


Echoes of the Dead

by Mercenary_bunnies



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Mind Games, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercenary_bunnies/pseuds/Mercenary_bunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kellogg might be dead, but he's not gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Man's Hand

She was going to die at the hands of a dead man. Sort of. 

Mallory, Mal to her friends, could almost appreciate the sick joke in that. She’d survived stumbling out of the pre-war world into the lawless Commonwealth. Survived radiation twisted creatures that could have been pulled from the depths of a bad monster movie, learned to take shelter during storms that turned the sky a thousand angry shades of yellow and green, and founded a string of settlements across the land, replacing the broken and twisted structures of her time with ramshackle housing and farmland. She had never expected to do any of those things when she’d gone to sleep in a ‘decontamination pod,’ but then again, she hadn’t expected to be threatened by a dead mercenary, either. Especially not one hiding out in the body of her best friend. 

Like many of the shitty situations in Mal’s life, the whole thing had started with good intentions. She’d tracked a detective named Nick Valentine to one of the old Vaults, rescued him from a mobster, and begged him for help finding her lost son. She’d been surprised to find that Nick wasn’t strictly human, but he’d been willing to help in a land filled with people who all seemed to want something, and that was more than enough for her. He had tracked Shaun and a man named Kellogg across miles of broken terrain, finally leading to Fort Hagen. Mal had thanked him for his help before going in to confront Kellogg, determined to find her son or die trying and not expecting the detective to follow. Nick surprised her again then, insisting on coming with her and never wavering, even when they’d been surrounded by blank Institute synths and the mercenary who’d been with her boy. 

In the aftermath, she’d been desperate and furious, shaking with spent adrenaline and despair at the thought of never reaching Shaun. Ever the gentleman, Nick had stayed beside her as she huddled on the floor, trying to breathe through a panic attack. With one hand resting on the back of her neck, he’d whispered reassurance and encouragement, promising that they’d see things through. Mallory hadn’t expected the next step to involve pulling synth components out of Conrad Kellogg’s head, but she’d pulled herself together and done it.

Plugging those same components into Nick was a different matter. She’d balked at the plan, hating the very idea of using her friend in such a way. She’d helped to repair Nick several times, cleaning and replacing parts of his body under his watchful gaze. Mal found it oddly peaceful, intimate, even. Tampering with his mind was a step too far, one she wasn’t comfortable with. Beyond the intrusiveness of it, she’d been quietly worried that the memory transfer would go wrong, leaving her alone again in the Commonwealth. But with no other leads, Nick himself had argued for the procedure. 

Mal had still hesitated, going so far as to seek out the leaders of the Railroad in the slim hope that they knew a way into the Institute. Once she’d understood the situation, Desdemona had seemed genuinely regretful, gently explaining that her organization had never found a way to breach the Institute. Even the Railroad’s resident spy, Deacon, had seemed sympathetic. The sunglasses-loving agent had offered to help her join the Railroad, letting her find a place within a group of people with similar goals. Through it all, Nick had been her constant companion, watching her run with compassion in his amber eyes. When she had finally turned to him and agreed to let him take on Kellogg’s memories, he’d nodded solemnly and led her to Goodneighbor without comment. 

When she exited the memory lounger, Mal had immediately turned to look at the linked chair, eager for reassurance that Nick had made it through the process intact. Finding him gone, she hastily thanked Dr. Amari before taking the steps out of the basement two at a time to find him sitting by the door. There had been time to register the oddness of his posture as he smoked his cigarette before he’d spoken to her. 

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Kellogg’s voice rolled out of Nick in a poisonous drawl. 

Mal had stopped running so abruptly that she almost tripped on the uneven floor of the Memory Den, hand reaching for her pistol in what felt like slow motion. If it had been anyone other than Nick speaking to her in Kellogg’s voice, she would have drawn on them then and there, but Nick…

Then he’d shifted position and blinked at her before asking what was wrong in Nick’s usual warm voice, and the moment of chilly horror had passed. When Mal told him what he’d done, the synth shrugged it off as an echo, assuring her that he felt fine. Suddenly wary of her companion, she’d considered not taking him along for the trip to the Glowing Sea. The place sounded dangerous enough without the possibility of a mercenary taking control of Nick at an inopportune moment. But Nick sounded so disappointed at her gentle suggestion that she relented, agreeing to continue travelling with him. 

The days after that trip passed in a blur. With Deacon’s assistance, she was offered a place in the Railroad as one of their agents, a position that was upgraded to ‘heavy’ after she hunted down an Institute Courser for his components. She’d also gotten wound up in the Minutemen’s attempt to retake their old headquarters of the Castle and set up artillery stations in their settlements across the Commonwealth. As if that wasn’t enough, she insisted on making trips back to Sanctuary Hills every week, where she held a solitary vigil in front of Nate’s cryopod. Most of the time, Mal barely had time to think, although she kept a watchful eye on Nick, half-waiting for Kellogg to speak through him again. If he noticed her increased attention, he had the grace not to mention it. 

After her early weeks of wandering the Commonwealth in a haze of confusion, the Railroad’s speed in researching and building the molecular relay was dizzying. The night before she was due to ride the relay, Nick had taken her hands and made her promise to come back, no matter what she found. Looking up into his eyes over their clasped hands, Mal had felt an unexpected flutter in her chest, one she never thought she’d feel again in her new life. Pushing it aside as infatuation, she’d pledged to return. No matter what she found. Crush aside, he’d been the best and closest partner she’d ever had, and damned if she’d leave him behind. 

After the grim and grit of the Commonwealth, the glossy white walls and cleanliness of the Institute came as a shock. Finding Shaun was an even greater shock. She’d gone in expecting to find him held captive, as a scientist or as a subject. In the weeks she’d spent in the wasteland, she’d come to think of the Institute as the bogeyman just like everyone else. She’d dreamt of finding him, rescuing him, even thinking about how she was going to raise a child in the Commonwealth. Discovering that her baby boy was both an old man and the one holding the bogeyman’s leash left her numb, dumbly stumbling around the Institute while her thoughts tried to coalesce. 

Whatever her mental state, she managed to secure a tentative position within the Institute and contact Patriot, the Railroad’s man on the inside. Mal could read suspicion in some of the scientist’s eyes, but her relationship to Shaun kept them silent. Once a Courser chip had been fitted to her Pip-Boy, allowing her to come and go at will, she made her excuses to leave. When Shaun asked her to cut ties with the surface and join the Institute as a permanent resident, she deflected, stammering that she needed time to consider. Shaun had acted disappointed but optimistic, saying that he knew she’d make the right choice. Somewhere under the numbness, the lawyer in her was quietly certain that she was being played, that Shaun cared more about securing his own position than her. Mal wanted to recoil from those thoughts, but couldn’t block them out when she could see the coolness in Shaun’s eyes. Confused and hurting, she relayed away from the Institute, reappearing at Mercer Safehouse in a crackle of blue light and ozone. 

The first person she saw as she blinked away the dancing spots in her vision was Nick, standing in front of the platform as though she’d been gone for only minutes instead of days. On seeing the synth, the shock dampening her emotions broke, leaving Mal gasping and sobbing against his chest. When Desdemona marched over to them and demanded an immediate debriefing, Nick shot the woman such a fierce glare that Deacon had intervened, arguing that Mal needed some time. When she was finally able to string a sentence together, she told her friends about what she’d found. The entire time, Nick held her hand. Every time she stuttered, brought to a halt by the blunt pain of the memories, Nick would squeeze gently to bring her back to the present. 

After her debriefing, Desdemona had been sympathetic but matter-of-fact, asking Mal to continue her espionage. Again, Mal found herself deflecting a request, wanting nothing more than to wash her hands of the whole messy business. Sitting on the shore behind Mercer Safehouse, she half expected Nick to come looking for her, but it was Deacon who came to sit beside her with a couple of bottles of Nuka Cola and a smile. The spy was gentle and supportive, telling her he could understand why she needed time to think and that she could always talk to him. Surprised by his generosity, she told him her dark suspicions about Shaun, her fear of being manipulated to harm innocent people. Deacon had regarded her solemnly for a moment before telling her that if she ever needed to figure out who to support, she only had to look at what sort of world they’d have her build and how she’d be asked to pay for it. She couldn’t find the words to answer him, but she was grateful. Deacon seemed to understand.

When she finally left Mercer Safehouse with Nick, she had no intention of returning to either the Institute or Railroad headquarters. After a quick trip back to the Glowing Sea to give Virgil his serum, she tagged along with Nick on his casework, happy to focus on tasks that didn’t ask so much of her. Between her intent on staying busy and the emotional turmoil she tried to ignore, she completely forgot to watch Nick for further signs of Kellogg’s lurking consciousness. Instead, she found herself watching him with a growing warmth, her eyes drawn to him with increasing frequency. When they made camp, she stayed up as long as she could to talk to him on any subject she could think of until sleep pulled her under, wondering what his lips felt like. Once he woke her up by speaking quietly into her ear, leaving her so flustered that she nearly walked into the raider ambush he’d been warning her about. 

Mal knew she was obsessing, that fantasizing about her friend was unfair, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself. She was grateful that Nick had either not noticed or had chosen not to say anything, sparing her the embarrassment of rejection. If she heard an extra note of warmth in his tone when he spoke to her, it was surely her eager imagination. It wasn’t until after the death of Eddie Winter that she started to suspect that her feelings could be more than just a crush. The synth had sounded so grimly proud to avenge both Jenny Lands and the original Nick Valentine. The way he talked about the past, painfully longing to make things right, moved her. Mal reached out to him, gripping his shoulders as she told him that no matter who he had been, he was his own man now. That she was proud to know him and be part of his life. Nick’s smile thawed something in her, a block of ice she’d carried in her belly ever since coming face to face with her grown son. That night, she told him over a meal of Cram and whiskey that she was going back to the Railroad to see things through. Nick had just nodded and reminded her that he’d be with her whenever she needed him. 

* * *

The trouble with Kellogg resurfaced unexpectedly, two days after her return Railroad HQ. Mal and Nick had been on the move, checking in on safehouses, when the sky darkened ominously. Deciding to take shelter for the night, the pair set themselves up in an abandoned house. Feeling grimy from their travels, Mal excused herself after dinner to sponge herself down with some purified water and an oven mitt. Unzipping her vault suit, she felt a chill in the air and found herself missing hot showers, not for the first time. With a sigh, she settled herself on the floor when she heard the door behind her creak open. 

“Nick, wha—“

Before she could pull her suit back on, she felt his hands on her. One hand, the one that still had plating, yanked her right arm up behind the opposite shoulder. His skeletal hand found her neck, pulling her head back and squeezing until she could barely breathe. Confused and too surprised to be afraid, she struggled until she saw black spots blooming in her vision, forcing her to be still rather than pass out. Confusion gave way to fear as Kellogg’s voice sounded above her. 

“Hello again, beautiful. Remember how I told you I should have killed you when I had the chance?” Mal’s eyes widened, rolling in their sockets as she tried to remember where she’d left her gun. She thought she’s laid it down on a broken table to her left, but she couldn’t be sure and she couldn’t see for shit with her head tipped back against his chest. Son of a bitch. She tried to slow her breathing and fight the rising panic, hoping being still would earn her a chance to lunge for her gun, or anything she could swing, really. Rolling her eyes upwards, she could see Kellogg/Nick looking down at her with a look she’d never seen the synth wear before. Catching her eyes, his lips quirked up in amusement.

“See, I can’t blame you for killing me. From one parent to another, you deserved some revenge. You did a hell of a thing, killing me and actually making it into the Institute,” he pulled her arm further up until she bit back a yelp. “But just because I understand doesn’t mean I’m not going to even some scores while I can. So we’re going to play a game.” Mal trembled as Kellogg’s voice shifted, moving close to her ear. “So now you know who the boss of the Institute is. Did you realize that he set me up? That he manipulated you into killing me? Well?” She could only muster a soft whimper in response. The mercenary chuckled in her ear, seeming to take it as assent.

“I’m going to ride along in your boyfriend’s head here until you get me in there to kill the old man myself,” Kellogg whispered. Mal’s heart sank; even if Shaun had become a monster, he was still her son. “Just so you don’t get any ideas, remember that I’m in control of the metal man,” he squeezed her neck and wrist for emphasis. “If I think you’re trying to play me, or get me out of his head, I’ll kill you, then I’ll destroy him and you’ll have to deal with the fact that you’ve killed someone else you love for the rest of your short life. And he loves you too, beautiful, don’t you worry about that. The sad bastard just doesn’t have the stones to tell you.” Mal choked on a sob of frustration. She didn’t even care where her gun was anymore; Kellogg must have known she wouldn’t be able to harm Nick after hearing that. The skeletal hand on her neck loosened, sliding down until the fingertips brushed the top of her breast. Mal failed to entirely suppress a shudder. “And to make sure you know I can do what I damn well please to your clockwork dick here--” 

The hand holding her wrist abruptly let go, followed shortly by a thump behind her. Turning, she found Nick lying on the floor behind her, eyes closed. Panic rose in up the back of her throat as she scrambled to his side and thumbed an eyelid back. The amber ring of light that made up his iris was dark. She quickly laid her head on his chest and heard nothing, not even the soft whirring of his internal fans. She wasn’t even aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Nick, please wake up, wake up wake up!” Her hands fluttered over him as she tried to focus on troubleshooting his complex systems. She turned and grabbed her bag, dumping it out on the floor to look for her screwdriver. Tool in hand, she turned back to him just in time to see his irises light back up. For an awful moment, she feared that Kellogg would still be in control. He blinked at the ceiling twice, then glanced at her before quickly covering his eyes with one hand. 

“Aw hell, doll, I didn’t mean to walk in on you like that,” he said in Nick’s voice. Mal sat back on her heels and breathed a sigh of relief before remembering that the top of her suit was around her waist. Blushing furiously, she jammed her arms down the sleeves and yanked the zipper up as Nick continued. “At least, I think I walked in on you. Didn’t I?” He sounded worried and embarrassed. Mal floundered, unsure of what she could say that wouldn’t worry him further. Or worse yet, bring Kellogg back to the forefront. 

“I- I mean, don’t worry, Nick. You just startled me, that’s all,” she knew it wasn’t an answer at all, but what else could she say? “You, ah, walked in here to tell me something and scared me. I threw a clock at you. I must have hit you harder than I thought. I’m so, so sorry, Nick.” The words came out in a rush, her tongue nearly tangling in her haste to end the conversation. He lowered his hand and stared at her, weighing her words. She stared back, silently willing him to accept the story. She hated lying, to Nick in particular, but Mal tried to tell herself it was for the best. Certainly better than Nick getting suspicious and Kellogg murdering both of them. At least her trembling voice and tears might help sell him on the story. 

“…If you say so.” Mal risked a quick glance at his face. He was frowning, eyes narrowed as he examined her. She stared down at her hands until she heard him get up and walk away. He paused at the door. “A clock, huh? You must have one hell of a throwing arm. And those cuts on your neck weren’t there earlier, either.” She could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her as he poked holes in her story, but could only clench her hands in her lap as the door closed behind him. Mal’s shoulders sagged as she choked back sobs, her fear and wasted adrenaline overflowing. Surely Kellogg wouldn’t kill him for being suspicious if she’d done her best to throw him off the trail. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was proud of this chapter when I first finished it, I quickly came to realize that the original version was sloppy and rushed. With some guidance from my friends, C. and vlalekat, I decided that it needed a rewrite, so here we are. I've tried to expand on Mal's relationships with Nick and Shaun, to make them a little less unbelievable and sympathetic. I didn't necessarily intend to introduce her friendship with Deacon here, but I find Deacon just shows up whenever he feels like it. :D Apologies to anyone who sees an update and comes expecting a new chapter, but I'll get a chapter 12 up as soon as I get a chance. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are gratefully accepted, and if you're reading this, you should go check out vlalekat's work. Seriously. Go. I'll wait.


	2. Migraines and Med-X

Mallory woke up the next morning with a truly remarkable crick in her neck. As she came to, she realized that she’d fallen asleep still sitting on the floor next to the bed with her head on her knees. At least someone had slung a blanket around her shoulders, so she was reasonably warm in the cool fall air. She tried to stretch slowly, easing her joints loose as gently as possible. As her body complained, she tried to remember why she’d fallen asleep on the floor in the first place. Her mind struggled to supply a good reason; she’d never gotten the hang of mornings back when she worked in the 9 to 5 world. God, what she wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee. She would have even taken Slocum’s Joe, swill that it was. She knelt slowly to collect her fallen blanket from the floor when it hit her. 

_Nick. Shit._ Suddenly she remembered why she’d been huddled on the floor like a child. Mal paused with the blanket in her hands, listening carefully. She couldn’t hear the detective in the shack, but it was hard to tell. Nick could be extremely quiet when he wanted to be. She folded the blanket absentmindedly and packed her belongings as she replayed the events of last night in her mind. Just how in the hell did Kellogg expect her to get Nick into the Institute? She couldn’t imagine that Nick would ever want to go back there, and even if she could persuade Shaun to let him in, how would she ever get the two of them out after killing Father? Mal grimaced as another question occurred to her. How could she ever trust that Kellogg wouldn’t kill Nick anyway, even if she did comply? Could he even do that? Last night’s events suggested he could, whether she trusted the old mercenary or not. And whether Kellogg left or was forced out, would there always be a part of him in Nick’s head? And did Nick actually have romantic feelings for her, or was that a lie from Kellogg meant to keep her in line?

Mal could feel her pulse somewhere behind her eyes in a dull throb. There were too many questions here, all of them serious. What she needed to do was sort all this shit out, as soon as possible. But all she knew about synths came from the simple repairs Nick had taught her to do. There was no way she could even work out some kind of plan to save Nick without more information. She needed to talk to an expert, without Kellogg watching her. She sat on the bed and rubbed her temples as she considered options. Virgil, perhaps? He’d been working in the Biosciences division, but maybe he’d know something she could use. Then she could maybe swing back up to Goodneighbor and have a word with Dr. Amari. Hell, even Tinker Tom might be able to offer some advice. He certainly owed her for all those MILA units she’d placed for him. And then…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet tapping at the door. Of course, Nick would have heard her moving around. Mal’s headache intensified, and she wondered if they’d be able to travel today. She’d always been plagued by headaches, and this one seemed to be shaping up into a full blown migraine. _Damn Kellogg._

“Hey partner, you decent?” Nick asked through the door. Mallory schooled her voice into a pleasant blandness; an old habit she’d picked up working as an office receptionist in college. 

“No, but I’m dressed. Come on in.” She heard the door open as she continued to massage her temples. Mal cracked her eyes open and looked at her friend. He could be hard to read if you didn’t know the signs; synthetic flesh didn’t really lend itself to clear facial expressions. She’d learn to observe other things to get a sense of his mood, like the way he wasn’t quite looking at her but at a point somewhere above her left shoulder. That, and the way he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, suggested he was embarrassed and at a loss for what to say. That seemed fair enough to Mal; she didn’t really know what to say to him, either. 

“Hey, Valentine—“

“So, partner—“

They both broke off and looked away as they interrupted each other. There was an awkward pause. Mal found herself tracing the pattern of wood grain on a broken dresser rather than looking at Nick. She suddenly realized that she missed the simplicity of life a few months ago, when her problems fell into the neat categories of those that could be bludgeoned and those that needed to be shot. Finally, Nick coughed politely and looked at Mal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her for a moment before he spoke. 

“You feeling okay? You have a headache?” 

Of course he’d be asking if she was alright. It was just like Nick, really. She looked at him and gave him a lopsided smile in spite of herself. 

“Yeah, but it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine,” she replied, forcing herself to stop rubbing her temples. She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to not to flinch away from the sunshine coming through the window. Nick just raised an eyebrow at her before grabbing her backpack from the foot of the bed where she’d left it. He shuffled through the bag for a moment before pulling out a partially used syringe of Med-X, the one that she used when her headaches came on. Mal hated to rely on the drug, preferring rest and a reasonably cool cloth on the back of her neck, but the Wasteland didn’t always allow her that kind of luxury. She sighed as Nick sat down on the bed and took her arm, resting the tip of the needle in the crook of her elbow. He glanced a question at her.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” she nodded. Gently, he eased the hypodermic home, giving her a fraction of a dose. She couldn’t remember telling him her preferred dose of the painkiller, but Nick seemed to know it anyway. Hancock had teased her once about her skittishness around chems, but Mal rarely took full doses of any drug aside from Stimpaks. Even the stims were only used in the midst of a fight, when there weren’t any other options. She knew it caused inconveniences sometimes, but she had her reasons. Nick had never questioned it, and that was one more thing she appreciated about her partner. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall as Nick recapped the syringe and put it back in her bag before handing her a bottle of Nuka Cola. 

“Here. Drink that and eat something, and we’ll leave when you’re ready.” He stood up, and suddenly Mal didn’t want him to go. She opened one eye and reached out, touching his wrist. Nick turned to her with surprise on his face. Mal hesitated. She didn’t want him to leave, but asking him to stay might be too much, considering the sudden awkwardness between them. Instead, she smiled at him, a more genuine smile this time. 

“Thanks, Nick.” 

It was a relief when he smiled back. He took her hand for a moment and squeezed it before letting it go. 

“Anytime, doll. Call me when you’re ready to go.” He stepped quietly out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Mal tipped her head back, letting the Med-X do its work. Finally, she leaned over and started looking through her bag for something remotely appetizing. She’d started to unearth a Salisbury steak when it occurred to her that Nick had just called her _doll._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time I added a chapter to this. This chapter is more fluff than anything else; a friend pointed out that I needed to work on building a relationship between these two, and she's right. Thanks C, you're the best. <3
> 
> I won't promise fast or regular updates for the time being, but I promise I'll keep it going. As always, kudos and comments are gratefully accepted. Thanks guys!


	3. Curiosity and Holotapes

It was late morning when Mal and Nick finally left the shack and continued south. Mal knew they wouldn’t really make much in the way of progress, but she told Nick that she hated to lose a full day like that, which was true. The other part of the truth was that she wanted Kellogg to see that she was making an effort. Hard to tell what the disembodied bastard would take offense to, so she reasoned that it was better to at least get some travelling done. And so they worked their way south and east, coming around in an arc to avoid going through Natick. The sun was reaching its zenith when Mal spotted a building through the trees. She kept a careful eye on it as they approached; she’d lost count of how many old buildings had feral Ghouls lurking within, until they came alongside the place. 

There were traps on the side entrance. Which meant loot, more likely than not. Mal’s fingers itched for her bobby pins as Nick paused and followed her gaze. 

“You and your hoarding tendancies,” he grumbled, but there was no real exasperation in it. Like most of her friends in the Commonwealth, he’d gripe a little about her insistence on grabbing desk fans and alarm clocks, but she’d put a fair amount of that scrap into upgrading their weapons and armoring their clothes. Her ability to tinker had saved the day more than once, earning her a certain amount of leeway. Someday, Mal thought it would be nice to maybe have a little shop in one of the bigger settlements, putting her talents to good use and never having to dig outhouse holes or take cold baths ever again. She slunk towards the building, throwing a grin back at Nick as she went. 

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Nick rolled his eyes at her. “I left it in my other coat.”

Mal snorted as she turned her attention to the traps in front of the door. For someone as well travelled throughout the Commonwealth as Nick was, he certainly never seemed to do it for fun. She was the one that constantly dragged him around whenever she saw a new icon on her Pip-Boy’s map. Resisting a mystery was not one of her abilities; she always wanted to pull things apart and see inside. Natural curiosity was one of her greatest strengths and flaws at the same time. Nick, on the other hand, seemed content to let things be unless it meant helping someone at which point he’d be all in. Mal found it endearing and exasperating in turns. 

A few short minutes later, she’d gotten into the building and found an open room bordered by a hallway lined with laser tripwires. She held up her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture for Nick’s benefit and set to work disarming them before sweeping the ground floor for any other traps. Rule one of being a hoarder in the Wasteland: always check for traps. Finally satisfied, she made a ‘caution’ gesture at Nick, who nodded and started poking around for interesting items. The hand gestures were something she’d picked up from Deacon when they ran missions for the Railroad. She only used the simple ones herself, unlike Deacon who had once spent a good five minutes gyrating and gesticulating to try to get her to grab a particular book for him in the Boston Library. When questioned, he claimed he’d learned ‘the language of dance’ from an exotic dancer in the Capitol Wasteland and it wasn’t his fault that she ‘didn’t have the music in her soul.’ He’d just laughed when she’d responded by threatening him with his bullshit recall code, which in turn made Glory brandish her gatling gun at the pair of them. 

All things considered, Mal quite liked the Railroad; they were idealistic to the point of stupidity at times, but their hearts were in the right place. She just hoped they’d be willing to stretch a little further for her and try to help with Nick. There was just the small matter of explaining the situation to them without Nick finding out. In her old pre-War life, she’d had more than her fill of secrets and little betrayals, and the thought of keeping something so huge a secret from Nick made her heart sink. She reminded herself of the threat Kellogg had made if she failed, and hoped that Nick would be able to forgive her someday. Mal pushed the thought away as she noticed a staircase leading further down. Glancing around, she saw Nick busily picking the lock to the front door; he claimed he liked to practice his skills in his downtime. Mal thought he just got bored waiting for her to stuff her bag with loot, but sometimes she liked to stand and watch him work. He was surprisingly dexterous, which was exactly the kind of thought she knew she shouldn't be harboring. Checking that her pistol was still in easy reach, she crept down the stairs. 

The basement had still more traps, with equipment and wire strewn about. An Assaultron stood in a docking bay, her (Mal always thought of Assaultrons as ‘her’, probably thanks to KLE-O) lone eye dark. A power cable led from the docking bay to a partition on the side of the room. Mal disabled the traps on the floor and looked into the partition, finding a terminal with a stack of holotapes labelled as hobbyist meeting notes. As she checked over the terminal, an idea struck her. She quickly slipped one of the holotapes into the computer, listening for Nick as she did so. Not hearing him, she formatted the tape and opened a text editor. Still no footsteps on the stairs behind her. Moving her fingers as quickly as she could, Mal pounded out a letter outlining her current predicament and copied it to the tape. As soon as the progress bar was complete, she slapped another tape into the slot and repeated the process. She was just finishing up with the third tape when she heard a voice behind her. _Damn._ She’d been so intent on her progress that she hadn’t heard his approach. 

“Got something interesting, partner?” The question sounded like Nick, but there was a definite hint of Kellogg in his voice. Mal jumped, fingers ‘accidentally’ brushing the keys to close the program before she spun around. 

“Nick! You scared the hell out of me!” She accused, praying the dangerous moment would pass and feeling like a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk. “I thought I’d check out these holotapes, but there’s nothing good on them. They’re scrambled.” Nick stared at her while she tried not to look guilty. After a long moment, he shrugged and turned away. She suspected that she had her curiosity to thank; she was known to pick up pretty much any holotape to investigate the contents. There was a desk back in Sanctuary that was packed almost to bulging with discarded media. The only holotapes she carried habitually were the ones with games, except for Red Menace, which Mal had insisted wasn’t as good as its sequel. 

“Anything good down here?” He sounded like himself again, without the casual menace of Kellogg’s voice. He wandered around the partitioning wall and Mal let her shoulders sag with relief as she slipped the rewritten holotapes into her bag. She slung the bag over her shoulder and joined him. 

“Not much, really. Just some things I can break down for components.” She picked up a stray sensor module and popped it in her bag for emphasis. Nick nodded, then gestured at the stairs. 

“If you’re done, we should probably be on our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forget the exact layout of the Electrical Hobbyist's Club, but that's what I had in mind here. And like Mal, I hoard the damn holotapes too.


	4. Spy and Scavver

“This sounds like something out of a bad story. Girl meets boy, girl kills mercenary, mercenary winds up riding along in boy’s head. Mmm. Too cliché.” Deacon shook his head dismissively. Mal frowned, not in the mood. 

“You forgot the rest. Mercenary threatens boy and girl if girl doesn’t get him into the Institute to kill girl’s son. And girl doesn’t know what to do about it without getting them all killed or making boy hate her guts.”

Mal had dropped off one of her clandestine holotapes with Deacon a week ago. She’d killed the intervening time running apparently endless errands for Preston’s settlements, and the lack of progress was making her cranky. It wasn’t just her, either; she’d been hearing more and more Kellogg leaking out in Nick’s voice as time passed. It had been a risk to send Nick back to his agency to ‘run official business’ with Deacon, but she needed to talk to someone. They’d wound up in a building full of freshly dead Super Mutants, sitting side by side on some stairs, drinking Nuka-Colas and discussing Nick’s mercenary infection.

“Nick wouldn’t hate you. He might be pissed that you didn’t tell him what was going on, but he’d come around when he knew why you did it,” Deacon encouraged her. “You think he’s noticed anything off?

Mal nodded. “Of course he knows something’s up. He’s too sharp not to notice.” In fact, she’d caught Nick looking at her a few times in the past week, frowning like a man trying to figure out a puzzle. One night she’d been woken up by the absent drumming of his fingers on the arm of a chair while he watched her sleep restlessly. She was dreading the inevitable questions from him about what was going on. “Problem is, Kellogg isn’t stupid either, and I don’t know how much information he gets through Nick. So I don’t dare leave him a clue, or a note, or anything like that.”

Deacon took a sip from his bottle. “I can appreciate how that would be tricky. For what it’s worth, Glory said that she’d never heard of anything like this, but Kellogg can probably see and hear everything Nick can. She didn’t want to guess how much of Nick’s thought processes he could access though, so it’s hard to tell how their personalities interact.” Mal gave a little sigh; she’d thought something similar, which changed nothing about the situation.

“Which means that I need to keep Nick from seeing or hearing anything definite about Kellogg’s infiltration. And try to keep him from getting suspicious.” Mal rolled her bottle between her hands, frowning. 

Deacon bumped her shoulder with his. “The news isn’t all bad. Tom thinks maybe he can cook up a sort of computer virus to knock both Nick and Kellogg out at the same time. Then you’d just need to have a way to get rid of Kellogg. But there’s no telling how long it would last, so you’d have to save it until you were really ready to deal with him. Did you talk to Dr. Amari?”

“Yeah,” Mal nodded, “She said it might be possible to set up the memory transference again, to let me into Nick’s head to try to deal with Kellogg directly. The problem is that there’s no way of telling who would come back, and in what kind of shape.” The thought of getting Nick back with some sort of brain damage was unpleasant, a pyrrhic victory she didn't want to consider. “I could try finding some help from Dr. Binet or anyone sympathetic in the Institute, but sneaking Nick in and out would be practically impossible. Everything down there is shiny and white and perfect; Nick would stand out like a sore thumb. And everyone down there is terrified of the surface.”

Both of them fell silent for a few moments, considering. Mal could almost feel her bad mood worsening; while it felt good to be able to talk freely about what was happening to Nick, she wasn’t moving any closer to a course of action. She traced the contours on her Nuka-Cola bottle with her fingertips, brooding, until Deacon cleared his throat. 

“There is another option, but you’re not going to like it,” it was always hard to read Deacon’s expression behind his sunglasses, but there was a hint of apprehension there. “Do what Kellogg wants. The Railroad’s working on gathering everyone for an assault on the Institute, you know that. Just take Nick along and see what happens.”

Mal opened her mouth and closed it again, biting back her first response. She wanted to snap at him, remind her friend of what exactly he was asking of her, but…he wasn’t wrong. She did know about the Railroad’s plans. She knew Shaun was dying. She knew that Shaun had grown up into a hard-hearted bastard. And she knew that Shaun was not biologically her son, but an infant adopted in an ill-judged attempt to save a flailing marriage. But the thought of serving him up like a sacrificial lamb still made her chest tighten. She struggled to think of a response. Deacon stared off into the middle distance, content to let her take her time.

“Deke, I…I don’t know.” It came out as a whisper. Deacon reached out and squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I said it like that. Just consider it as an option, alright?” Another silence fell between them. “For now, you might want to just keep working with the Railroad to keep Kellogg placated, consider the options, and see if you can find anyone sympathetic in the Institute in the meantime. And you can always come talk to me whenever you need to blow off some steam or get a second opinion. You know I’m in your corner. Always have been.”

Oddly enough, Mal believed him on that. It may have been a little crazy to trust a man who wouldn’t even share his real name, but she trusted him all the same. Deacon had looked out for her from the moment she’d set foot in the Commonwealth, if the lookout station above Vault 111 was any indication. He was easy to talk to as well; even if he did decide to spill the beans on anyone, he was so frequently full of crap that most people would never take him seriously. It was like having a brother around again. And much like her relationship with her late brother, she’d never tell him any of that directly. 

“Yeah, I bet you say that to all the women in the Railroad,” she quirked her lips in the beginnings of a smile despite herself.

Deacon grinned. “Well, we do have the bi-monthly ‘Deacon and Gals’ spa day where we all go get mani-pedis and gossip about the guys we like. Glory gets her nails painted purple, Des goes for red and I get my toenails done in pink. Your invite must have gotten lost.” He wiggled his fingers at her and she laughed. Her mood started to lift; it felt good to laugh after recent events. “Speaking of which, have you told Nick how you feel about him?”

Mal choked on a sip of Nuka-Cola, making her sinuses fizz while Deacon pounded her back. Even though it was a lost cause, she tried for nonchalance anyway. “What are you talking about?” Deacon moved his head in a gesture that suggested he’d rolled his eyes hard enough to bounce them off the back of his skull.

“Don’t give me that. You’ve been eyeballing him like a fresh Brahmin steak for a while now.”

“Damn. I’ve been that obvious?” Mal groaned and hung her head in embarrassment. Deacon just chuckled. 

“Maybe not to everyone, but I’m supposed to be good at reading people, remember? Glory noticed, too. She thinks it’s cute.”

 _Great._ Glory had the emotional sensitivity of the average Mirelurk. How had she been so stupidly obvious? “Yeah, I’ve got a thing for him. It’s just…tension, okay? Spend enough time alone with someone friendly and it’s bound to happen.”

There was a hint of an eyebrow wiggle from the spy. “Significant-pause kind of tension, huh? So if I spend enough time alone with you, would I start looking like a Fancy Lad Snack Cake?”

Mal snorted. “For you, it would be an improvement.” Deacon looked pained as he pressed a hand to his chest.

“Oh! My lady doth wound me with her barbed tongue!” He laughed as Mal stuck her tongue out at him, then sobered. “So are you saying you’re just lusting after him, no romantic feelings? Because this is an awful lot of angst you’ve got going for someone you’ve only got….tension with.” 

She sighed, trying to figure out how to answer. “I do have some feelings for him, but…well, I don’t think it’s a good idea to act on them,” Deacon raised an eyebrow and she went on, “Things between Nate and me were bad when the bombs fell, and so much has happened since then. I just…I’m afraid that it’ll go wrong if I tell him. He won’t want me, or I’ll screw it up because of my baggage, and then we won’t be able to go back to being friends.”

“Another old story cliché,” Deacon nodded slowly. “Look. I know I’m not the best person to give advice on this kind of thing, but I think a perfect moment will come for you to tell him. When it does, just do it. Whether or not he accepts, at least you’ll know.”

Mal smiled ruefully. “More clichés?” Deacon smiled. 

“You know it. Now come on,” he finished his Nuka-Cola and stood up, offering her a hand up, “We should get going before Des sends Glory to find us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know we haven't seen much of Nick for a couple of chapters, but we'll see him again in the next bit, I promise. I did have fun with this chapter, though. Deacon's a fun character to write for. I just hope I did him some justice. As always, kudos and comments are gratefully accepted, and I'll get to work on the next chapter. :D


	5. Memories

After leaving Deacon back at Railroad HQ, Mal made the trip back up to Sanctuary alone for her habitual vigil in Vault 111. Her private time in the Vault with Nate’s body was a ridiculous luxury, she knew; tramping back and forth across the Commonwealth was both stupid and frequently dangerous. But sometimes an enormity of loss caught up to Mal and she mourned not just her husband, but the entire pre-War world. Sometimes it was something major, like seeing Shaun for the first time and realizing just how long she’d been gone. Most of the time it was small things; a favorite issue of Grognak unearthed from the rubble or the sight of a random person’s silhouette that reminded her people she had known before. The one time she’d walked into the schoolhouse in Diamond City, the familiar smell of old books and chalk sent her straight back out to sit in a back alley and struggle to keep her composure. The realizations of all that was lost ambushed her at times, and sitting a lonely wake in the Vault helped her avoid falling to pieces. Most of the time, at least. Enough to make the treks back to Sanctuary worth it for her.

Mal crept around the ruins of Concord and continued onwards, furtively checking around for Raiders. Normally she would have swung by Diamond City and picked Nick up before making this trip, but she wanted some time to herself after her talk with Deacon. Complex interpersonal feelings had never been Mal’s strong suit; her family had treated them almost like a mark of weakness and she wanted some extra alone time to sort things out. Luckily she’d taken this route enough times that she had an idea of what areas were best left alone, and she had Eddie Winter’s old .44 handgun for any trouble. 

She paused at the Red Rocket station and looked over the bridge at her old neighborhood. Dusk had fallen, and the rudimentary street lights she and Sturges had installed were winking on. She could see the occasional silhouette of the settlers walking near the lights, going about their evenings. Mal watched and waited until the sky darkened more before walking to the river’s edge and wading in. She didn’t feel like wandering through Sanctuary just now. Her Pip-Boy groaned a radiation warning, but she kept going until she found the path up the hill to the Vault. Once out of the water, she took a quick dose of Rad-X and kept moving, glancing behind her to check that her presence hadn’t been noticed by anyone in town. So far, so good. She ducked into the small trailer next to the Vault entrance and hit the elevator control panel before taking her place on the platform. Nearby, she saw an old armchair, where Nick typically sat while waiting for her to emerge. She felt a pang of regret for not bringing him. 

Nate’s cryopod was exactly how she’d left it, with a bouquet of dried hubflowers, a few of his favorite issues of Grognak, and the candles she lit whenever she visited. As far as shrines went, it was a lousy one, but she didn’t think Nate would have minded. He’d never been much for fancy or expensive things anyway. Mal pulled out a couple of new candles and a Mr. Handy model, set them out, and then eased herself down on an old couch cushion she’d set in front of her own cryopod. Folding her legs, she leaned back against the door and put her thoughts in order. Early on in her new life, she’d come down here and shouted and cried, alternately apologizing for being the one of the pair that survived and cursing him for dying on her, among other things. The passage of time had soothed her a bit though, and most of the time she just talked. 

“Hi Nate. Been a little while, hasn’t it?” She’s gone longer than usual between visits this time. Once, she’d visited every week, but the time between visits was slowly stretching out. For good or ill, she was beginning to move on. “Sorry about that. A lot has happened, and I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Somewhere in the distance she could hear water dripping. “You remember me telling you about Nick? Well, he’s got a problem. In fact, he and I both have a big problem, and I can’t even tell him about it. Just my luck, isn’t it? I find a guy I’m attracted to, that I can maybe even love, and now I’ve got to play cloak and dagger with the dead mercenary in his head.” Mal shook her head with a bitter chuckle. “Maybe relationships just aren’t for me? Who knows.”

“Deacon says maybe I should just let things happen the way they were happening anyway. Just ride the Railroad all the way to the end and take Nick along. He thinks that maybe if I get Nick inside so Kellogg can shoot Shaun, he’ll just evaporate and it won’t be a problem anymore. I don’t think Kellogg will just vanish, but I don’t see any other way to get him into the Institute,” Mal paused, considering. “I hate the idea of using Shaun like that. You and I wouldn’t have been good for him with all our…your bullshit, and I’m glad he grew up safe, but it’s not like he asked to be here anymore than I did. But the Institute needs to be dealt with. Shaun’s the one who made them into what they are today, so that means killing him. He’s already dying of cancer, so killing him is mostly a, a symbol, a declaration of victory. I understand, but I just wish it didn’t feel so wrong.” She sighed. 

“Tinker Tom said he might be able to cook up something that would knock Nick and Kellogg out at the same time, so I could use that to keep Kellogg from killing Nick once it’s time to root him out. The only thing is to decide how to do that. Dr. Amari offered to hook Nick and me up through memory transference again so I can fight Kellogg directly. I think I might have to do that, ‘cause I can’t see Nick ever forgiving me if I gave him to the Institute to repair.” She was struck by the truth of that even as she said it. Even if she could find someone in the Institute who was willing to fix Nick, how would Nick handle waking up there? Not well, and that was assuming everything else went perfectly and he was allowed to leave afterwards. Handing Nick over would almost certainly destroy anything between them, on top of making her a lousy friend. 

Mal tipped her head back against her cryopod’s door and closed her eyes. The nervousness and restlessness of the last week was catching up to her. She needed to wrap this up and get down the hill to Sanctuary for some rest. She extinguished the candles and climbed to her feet before she could nod off. She’d learned from experience that falling asleep on the Vault floor would result in a painful wakeup the next morning. Without the candlelight, she could see her own reflection in the glass of Nate’s cryopod. Her brown eyes were ringed with exhausted shadows, her skin looked wan under the dust from the road and her ginger hair looked like it needed to be unraveled from its braid and given a good wash. She patted the cryopod door absently. 

“So, I’ll be back, but I’m not sure when. Hope things are good wherever you are.” She looked through the glass at Nate’s face. Looking at him hurt less these days. “See you later, Nate.”

She walked slowly through the Vault, looking forward to a bath, some food, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order. She could and had bunked in the Vault’s employee’s beds from time to time, but tonight she wanted her bed in Sanctuary. All those comfy pillows she’d carted through the Commonwealth called to her. Mal barely looked up as the elevator carried her to the top of the hill, until a sense in the back of her head told her she wasn’t alone anymore. She had her pistol halfway out of its holster before she saw two rings of amber light above the ember of a cigarette in Nick’s armchair. She dropped the pistol back into place with a huff. 

“You looking to get shot out here, partner?” Nick sounded annoyed by her lack of caution, “You need to pay more attention.”

Mal stared at him as her alarm gave way to irritation. “What are you doing here? I was going to come out to the agency tomorrow.” She hated the churlish way she sounded. What was she going to do, be angry at him for not sitting on his hands and waiting for her? “Sorry, Nick. That came out badly.”

There was a pause. Mal watched, embarrassed and slightly wary, as Nick walked over and offered her a cigarette. She hesitated, but took it and let him light it for her. “No apologies needed. I finished up early and figured you’d turn up here soon enough,” the glow from his cigarette revealed a slight smile. “It gets kind of lonely these days if you’re not around.” Nick’s statement felt bigger than the actual words, like he was hinting at something. Mal set it aside in her mind; she’d think about it later, when there was no risk of her blurting out something stupid.

“Thanks, Nick. I missed you, too.” Did his eyes flicker at that, or had she imagined it? “Did you make the trip okay?”

“Yeah, I did, thanks for asking. Your Minutemen have been trying to keep the road to Sanctuary clear, did you know that?”

She hadn’t, actually. _Damn._ If she’d known, she wouldn’t have had to track through hills and trees swinging around every settlement in the greater Boston area. “No, I didn’t. I mostly handle settlements; Preston usually doesn’t consult me on the day to day stuff.”

Nick took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled. “Well, you’re a busy woman. Can’t ask you to take care of everything.” Mal thought there was a hint of reproach there; most of her friends approved of her work for the people of the Commonwealth, but they generally weren’t overly fond of Preston. No matter how nice Preston came off at first, his constant attempts at monopolizing Mal’s time wore thin on all of them. He’d be at the bottom of everyone’s Christmas card list, if anyone had one anymore. Which seemed unlikely. Nick gestured at the elevator platform, “I’ve always meant to ask what it is you do down there. Mama Murphy tells me you’ve got a secret stash of chems or somesuch.”

Mal smiled bitterly in the darkness, not catching the way Nick’s eyes brightened momentarily at the way her lips twisted. “Hardly. I hate chems. They were part of why…” Mal caught herself and stopped, not sure if she wanted to tell the story. Nick seemed to pick up on her reluctance, blinking at her in the darkness.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Once again, there was a sense that Nick was offering something bigger than the context implied. Mal was unexpectedly touched as he flicked his cigarette away and offered her his arm. Mal ground out her cigarette under her boot heel before taking him up on the offer. Together, they started down the footpath to her home. 

“I didn’t come from the Commonwealth originally, did you know that?” She smiled ruefully at the little ramshackle town she called ‘home’ these days. “I grew up in Virginia, out in the woods. My mom died when I was eight, so it was just me, my brother, and our dad in a little trailer.” Her footsteps slowed as she sank into the story. Nick didn’t comment, just adjusted his pace to match and steered her down the path.

“People out in the backwoods didn’t usually have much…ambition, I guess you’d say. All I knew is that I was probably going to wind up knocked up and working in Dad’s garage until I got too old to turn a wrench. I hated the idea, the _futility_ of it. And then I met Nate.” Nick glanced at her as she stared off into the distance. 

She shook her head slowly, and Nick could see the shadow of the girl she had once been in her face. “I was seventeen. He was on a visiting football team, and I loved him immediately. He must have seen something in me, too, because he started making excuses to come down from Massachusetts to visit me. We snuck around, acted like a couple of stupid teenagers, made plans…” she trailed off with a sigh. 

“I got married the day after I graduated high school. My family was against it; they said we were both too young, that we didn’t have any idea of how long-term relationships work. At the time, I thought they were attacking us. Looking back, I think they just wanted what was best for me,” Mal looked towards the south and looked sad. “I wish I could go back and tell them I understand now.” She paused, regretful. “Nate and I moved up here, to a little apartment in Lexington. Things were good for a few months, until he got drafted into the Army.” 

“I was working as a receptionist in a law office, and he was gone, so I went back to school and started studying law. By the time he got out of the service, I had my degree and was looking for work. And he came back with a synthetic leg and a habit,” her voice had a harsh tone to it now, anger and regret together. “He’d started taking chems after he caught the edge of a mine explosion, and he’d gotten hooked. Med-X, Buffout, Jet…Psycho…there wasn’t much he wouldn’t sniff, swallow or inject.” Nick was looking at her sympathetically, but Mal hardly saw him through her memories. 

“He couldn’t hold down a job. He’d start one, but then he’d do something stupid and get fired again. I had to go to work for this sleazy lawyer, Mr. Perkins, to keep enough money coming in. He paid me pretty well, so long as I wore short enough skirts,” Mal’s hand tightened on Nick’s arm as his lips thinned in disgust. He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. His skin felt rough and slightly cool on hers. “Finally, we wound up buying a little place out here in Sanctuary, between my work and Nate’s pension. He kept promising me things would get better out here in the suburbs, where he didn’t know any dealers. And I wanted to believe him.”

Mal huffed angrily. “I was an idiot. We had a chem dealer living just a couple of houses down from us. Nate started sneaking out late at night, when he thought I wouldn’t notice. We started fighting. I was thinking of leaving him and going back home, but every time I started planning, he’d have a good week and promise to do better. I should have just gone, but I was too chickenshit to leave and too proud to tell my family what was going on.” 

She hadn’t meant to tell Nick so much, but she couldn’t seem to stop it now. The words seemed to flow of their own volition. They had reached the sidewalk in Sanctuary now, but Nick hadn’t let go of her hand on his arm. “I still loved him, even then, you know? Nate wasn’t a bad man, but our marriage was on the rocks and I didn’t know what to do. I tried getting him to get treated for addiction, tried begging and cajoling and bribing. I guess I wanted to fix him. I know that’s stupid, but…” Nick nodded and squeezed her hand again, reassuring her. “After a few months of this, he got this crazy idea. He thought if we had a kid, it would fix everything.” She shook her head as they reached the house she’d built at the edge of town. Nick let go of her to flick the light switch, then took her hand again and led her to the couch. Mal sat down, watching as Nick rooted through a cooler in her small kitchen. 

“I thought it was a stupid idea, and I told him so. By that time I had a list of every moving company in the area, along with a shiny new set of suitcases to pack my things in. But he kept promising that everything would be okay if we just had a baby, that it was all he needed to pull himself together. And I still wanted so badly to believe him.” Nick came out of her kitchen with a Nuka Cola and a bottle of rum. He opened the bottles and set them on the coffee table before her, letting her decide if she wanted alcohol with this story. Mal loved him a little more for that as she tipped a little rum into the cola and swirled the bottle. 

“I caved, eventually. We had some trouble with having our own child, so we wound up adopting a son.” She was skipping over details; the year she’d spent sleeping on their couch rather than their bed, his impotence due to the chems, the knowing looks from her neighbors, the way he’d started weeping once when a car had backfired outside. She drank her rum and Nuka and sighed. “Things were a little better for a while once we had Shaun with us, but Nate had started sneaking out at night again. The morning the bombs fell, I had stayed up late the night before, packing mine and Shauns’s things.”

Nick stirred beside her. “It sounds to me like you wanted to make the right choice for you and your son.” He was watching her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. Mal raised one shoulder in a shrug, then shook her head again.

“I don’t know. He’d come back from the war with some demons, and I knew that. I could have been more supportive. I could have done _something_. Instead I stuck around because I was too scared and ashamed to leave, and dragged a baby into it to boot.” Nick watched her take another swig from her bottle before he reached out and took it from her hand. He sat it down on the table before taking both of her hands in his and staring into her eyes.

“Mallory. It wasn’t your fault. You can’t go on blaming yourself for how things turned out. You have to let it go.” He squeezed her hands as tears stung her eyes. She’d been trying to tell herself the same thing, but when he said it, she could almost let herself believe. She took a shuddering breath, blinking fiercely. Nick watched her for a moment with his head tilted before wrapping her in a hug. Mal buried her face in his shoulder and tried not to cry while he ran his complete hand over her braid where it fell against her back. After a few moments of sniffing, Mal pulled herself together and realized how comfortable Nick was to lean against. His shoulder felt like any other person’s, down to the way his frame left a hollow spot perfect for resting her head at the side of his neck and a slight warmth that came from his inner workings. She closed her eyes and could smell a combination of cigarette smoke and the soap he used for his coat, with a hint of machine oil underneath. She stilled against him, breathing him in and listening to the faint sound of his coolant pump, feeling at peace for the first time in weeks. 

“C’mon partner, it’s about time you get some rest,” Nick grasped her shoulders as she sat up reluctantly. “Go to bed, sleep in tomorrow, and we’ll see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He smiled as she yawned into her hand. Mal knew he was right. She got up and crossed the room, stopping only to look back at him before she climbed the steps to her room. He smiled again and made a shooing gesture. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. Good night, doll.”

“Good night, Nick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you guys some Nick goodness in this chapter, didn't I? 
> 
> As always, kudos are appreciated. Comments fill my little black heart with joy, so comment away, gentle readers. I'll see you in the next chapter! <3


	6. Corrupted Memories

Ever since his transformation into a prototype synth, Nick never really slept. Sometimes he missed it; he could remember the feeling of being warm and comfortable and drifting away from conscious thought. Not so much the dreams; the original Nick‘s dreams had been increasingly distressing after the death of Jenny Lands. But the pleasant languor of falling asleep and waking up was something he could have used on occasion. Instead, he spent his nights contemplating cases or watching the wasteland for movement. If the world seemed especially quiet and interruptions were unlikely, Nick would run diagnostics or work on repairing himself. Like nights spent in Sanctuary with sentries outside, for example. 

He took his time disposing of Mal’s bottle of Nuka-Cola and rum, moving quietly through her small house before dimming the small lantern that illuminated her living room. He had learned from experience that leaving the lights turned all the way up had a way of attracting settlers to the house, no matter what time of night it was. To her credit, Mal never let her annoyance show whenever she was dragged out of bed, but Nick knew how much she hated it. Better to keep the lights dim and the curtains down, especially with his partner being as tired as she was.

He moved absentmindedly to a cabinet beside Mal’s desk and pulled out a toolbox she kept just for him. Mal had made a point of picking apart broken synths for useful parts, as well as keeping an array of tools on hand for most repairs. She’d even designed a few of the tools herself, mostly for reaching odd wires or hard-to-reach fasteners. Whatever Mal lacked in the gunplay department, she certainly made up for in her tinkering skills, Nick mused. Perhaps one day she’d settle down with someone and go into business for herself as a mechanic, no matter how much she’d hated that future when she was younger. He hoped she’d find a good spouse out in the wasteland; she deserved nothing but the best. He knew she secretly (or not so secretly) wanted him for her lover, but that could never be more than a crush. Privately, Nick dreaded the day his frozen vaultie realized she was too good to stay with a broken down old synth, but he’d learned to keep that opinion to himself. The last time he’d mentioned not being human enough, he’d thought Mal was about to slap him before she walked away and refused to speak to him for the rest of that day. 

Midway to the couch, he heard Mal mumbling sleepily. Toolbox still in hand, he stepped to the partially open doorway of her bedroom and spoke quietly. 

“Partner?” 

Another mumbled sentence answered him, and although he couldn’t make out the words, Mal sounded scared. He considered for a moment before setting the toolbox on the floor and looking around the doorframe, reluctant to invade her privacy.

Mal was laying in the middle of the bed in a nest of blankets and pillows she’d collected in her travels, body curled tightly around her favorite pillow. The little moonlight that filtered through her curtains highlighted a long curve from her shoulder to her knees under her blanket. As he watched, Mal shifted restlesstly, pressing her face to her pillow and mumbling again. Nick frowned, wondering what she saw in her dreams to make her sound so troubled; she hadn’t had nightmares for some time. He eased through the door and padded to her bedside silently, wondering if he was doing the right thing. His mind was made up for him when Mal sobbed something that sounded like his name into her pillow. Gently, Nick reached out and brushed her hair away from her face before stroking her arm. He leaned over and whispered in Mal’s ear, telling her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere; any quiet words he could think of to soothe her. After a few minutes of reassuring words and touches, Mal quieted and began loosening her grip on the pillow and Nick straightened. 

Looking down at his sleeping partner, Nick felt a wave of tenderness. There was never a shortage of hard luck stories in the wasteland, and Mal was no exception. But after all she’d seen and been through, the vault dweller had waded into the world and tried to make it a better place. It was amazing, really. _She_ was amazing. 

_If only he could…_ No. No, best not think about her that way. He shut the thought away, but the tenderness remained.

With a fond smile, he shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over her bare shoulder. After a moment, Mallory pulled a sleeve close to her face, nuzzling the cuff and relaxing into what the synth hoped was a deep sleep. He stayed to watch her a moment longer, committing the image of her sleeping with his coat to memory before creeping out of her room and pulling the door closed. 

Collecting his toolbox, he settled himself on the couch, and set to work, letting his diagnostic processes point out problem areas. Time passed with nothing but occasional rustling of clothing or tools, or the squeak of metal on metal as he fitted components together with the light machine oil Mal kept set aside for him. The process didn’t take as long as it used to; Mal was too good a mechanic to let him get away without regular maintenance, keeping his body in better working order than it had been in for years. 

He carefully put the spare parts and tools back in the toolbox before leaning back into a comfortable position so he could run his software diagnostics. A basic self-test of his processes returned normal results, so he set up a memory test. As the test began, Nick tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He’d been through most of his memories so often that he barely noticed them anymore, color and detail faded through time. But his newer memories with Mal were always worth revisiting, especially in a peaceful night with no interruptions. 

_…The first time he’d seen her, looking exhausted and desperate, but still filled with determination in the middle of a Vault full of mobsters…._

Reviewing his memories of Mallory always brought a heady mix of emotions for the synth; joy, mirth, anger, fear. The flood of feelings was one of the reasons Nick preferred running the memory scans in private; it became difficult to not say things he might regret later. 

_…There was the time she’d been trapped behind poor cover under fire from a Gunner with a rocket launcher and he’d had to rush her to the nearest settlement for medical care…_

Because no matter how little he thought of himself as a human, he couldn’t deny that he was charmed by her. Most people only knew of her for her actions, but to him, she was _Mal_. The only woman who seemed to get all his references and jokes, and gave as good as she got. 

_…When she’d presented him with the first custom tools she’d made for his maintenance, eyes downcast and blushing shyly. He’d been touched and flustered and had joked about it being almost like a wedding gift. Mal’s blush had deepened almost to maroon and a strange look had flashed over her face, one he couldn’t decipher…_

And on top of being good company, they were building a history together. She knew about his doubts and fears regarding his humanity and defended him to himself when he needed it. He knew how conflicted she was about her son and his role in the Institute’s actions and what she might have to do to protect the innocent. Tonight he’d learned even more about her sorrow and how badly she blamed herself, and he was determined to be there for her whenever she needed him. Even if things had felt off for the past few weeks, tonight had felt like the beginning of a return to normality. 

_::CORRUPTED MEMORY FOUND::_

Nick blinked in surprise, shaken from his reverie. Checking the error message, it was a memory from a few weeks ago. In fact, it was from right around the time things started feeling a little awkward between him and Mal. He frowned in the dim light of Mal’s living room, drumming his fingers on the couch’s armrest as he waited for his repair protocols to salvage what they could from the corrupted piece of memory. 

Whatever he expected from the memory, it certainly wasn’t he got. He saw a blurry vision of Mal, vault suit unzipped and pooled around her waist, with her head pulled back against his chest and his hand on her throat. Even through the haze of corruption, he could see her eyes wide open and rolling, searching for a way out of the grip that was bruising her neck. He could hear a man’s voice, but not his own, coming from him but the distortion made it impossible to understand what was being said. The thoughts and feelings behind the speech weren’t his own, either. It was like being a passenger in someone else’s mind, and Nick found the sensation extremely disquieting. When he saw his own hand drift lower and brush over the top of her breast, he recoiled, shutting off the playback. 

Badly rattled, Nick reached for a cigarette. He was not surprised to find his hands shaking as he retrieved his lighter and drew in a breath to calm himself before lighting the tobacco. 

_What the hell?_

No wonder Mal had seemed so out of it the next day. He hadn’t believed her about her throwing a clock at him and knocking him out at the time, but he’d decided to let things be until he figured out what was going on. She’d continued to be jumpy and nervous around him after that night, but he’d just chalked it up to nerves due to her crush on him, or possibly exhaustion due to all the work she did. He’d had no idea…

Gingerly, he probed the blighted memory in his mind. As he did, he realized it wasn’t the only memory that was out of the ordinary. There was only one recent corrupt memory that took place before the one he had just seen. Inspecting the time stamps, that one had taken place at the Memory Den, just after he’d acted as a surrogate for Kellogg’s memories. There were others afterward, although none of the files were as large or as damaged as the one where he’d been hurting Mal, suggesting something on the order of momentary brownouts. Bracing himself mentally, he reopened the file, watching until he saw his own view shift upward and black out. 

Clearly, he hadn’t just accidentally walked in on her and taken a clock to the skull. What had possessed him to do such a thing? And why had he passed out? Had he been damaged in some way in the Memory Den? He flicked the ash off his cigarette absentmindedly before taking another drag. Suddenly Mal’s mumbling his name in her sleep took on an ominous significance. How much did his partner know and why hadn’t she said anything to him about it?

Nick finished his cigarette with one more deep drag and checked the time. Mal would likely be up in a couple of hours, if Preston didn’t turn up at her door sooner. Briefly, he considered waking her but he found he was worried about confronting her with his new information. What if she’d been too afraid to talk to him? It seemed unlikely that she would have kept such a secret voluntarily, so what exactly had he said to her while he assaulted her? Worried, he began a deeper scan of all his software and firmware, looking for an explanation. The scan would take some time, but if he sat completely still and devoted all of his runtime to it, perhaps he could be done by the time Mal woke up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As attached as I am to Mallory, I really felt like I needed a chapter from Nick's perspective to get a feel for what he's thinking. On top of that, someone as smart as Nick would have to work out that something was deeply wrong sooner or later, so I figured it may as well be now.
> 
> Sorry about the long time between updates; I've had possibly the most boring writing class ever for this semester, so sitting down to do more writing is a bit of a slog. But I still love to see kudos and comments from you guys, and it's always good to get a new chapter up. Thank you for reading, and hopefully you'll leave a lovely comment so we can talk.


	7. Admissions

The sunlight coming in under her bedroom curtains woke Mal up with a squint and a groan. It was a cool morning, the air just chilled enough to make the warmth of her bed enticing. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sound of hammering. Probably Sturges continuing his unending work on the settlement. She shuffled herself down further under her blankets, trying to get away from the hated morning light when she felt cool metal against her cheek. Cracking one eye, she found herself under Nick’s battered trenchcoat. She vaguely remembered having a nightmare; Nick must have come in to check on her. With her face pressed against the cuff of his sleeve, she could smell his faint scent, both beguiling and comforting at the same time. 

Suddenly, the morning didn’t seem so bad. 

She sat up slowly, gathering the coat around her and listening for her detective. No sound came from the rest of the house, but perhaps he was out talking to the settlers or Preston. Swinging her legs out of bed, Mal wrapped the trenchcoat around her like a robe and stood up slowly, taking a moment to stretch before walking into her living room. 

Nick was sitting on the couch, perfectly still with the lights of his eyes dimmed. In the quiet morning, she could hear the faint clicking sounds of his processors and the whirr of his internal fans. The sight of Nick running his diagnostic tests could be a little unsettling, but Mal was more or less used to it. Leaving the synth alone for the time being, she cinched the belt of his coat around her waist and padded into the kitchen with visions of omelets in her mind. She was just getting the frying pan hot when she Nick’s voice behind her.

“Mallory?” 

“Yeah?” She answered casually as she poured her whipped Deathclaw egg into the pan. 

“Have I…done anything to hurt you?” 

Her hands froze for a moment while her mind raced. _Oh no…_

“No, Nick. You haven’t done anything to hurt me,” she half-lied. She gripped the handle of her spatula tightly, willing her hands not to shake, even though she knew the pause in her movements had likely given her away already. Not daring to turn and look at him, she pretended to be engrossed in cooking the omelet she was no longer hungry for. 

“Mal,” his voice was closer now, and she could hear the uncertainty in his tone, “I found some corrupted data in my memory last night. I can’t tell what happened, but it looked like I was hurting you. Threatening you.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper, weighed down with misery. She spun to face him, forgetting to be careful in the need to comfort him. 

Her partner’s eyes were downcast, and even the lights within them looked dim. Mal reached out for him, pausing only to toss her spatula behind her without looking. But before she could embrace him, Nick stepped backward, pulling away. Her heart dropped. 

“Nick…” Her voice came out low, almost a plea. For what, she couldn’t be sure.

He shook his head slightly. “No, Mal. I need to know. What have I done to you when I can’t remember? What’s going on in my head? And why didn’t you say anything?”

Mal turned slightly, turning off her stove while her mind raced. The threat of Kellogg was still there ( _why hadn’t he taken over rather than have Nick realize something was wrong?_ ), but in that moment Mal was more afraid of what Nick was thinking of himself. He’d been so proud to take ownership of his own identity. Mal could only hope realizing he was carrying an outsider wouldn’t demolish his self-respect. As for his unwanted passenger, would Kellogg retaliate if Nick was the one raising the subject? Probably, but what else could she do? She looked at him, seeing how every line of his posture showed his hurt and bewilderment and came to a decision. If the conversation was most likely going to bring Kellogg out anyway, she could at least let him know some of the truth. Oddly enough, the realization was freeing, even when she knew how high the stakes were for both of them. Taking a deep breath, Mal plunged onward.

“Nick, what I said was true. _You_ haven’t hurt me. You’re not wrong about what you saw, but you…you haven’t completely been yourself,” Nick’s eyes darted up to meet hers and she continued quickly, “I’ve been working with the Railroad and Dr. Amari, trying to find a way to help you.” Nick continued to stare at her, intent on hearing the truth in her words. “I didn’t tell you because I’ve been trying not to make it worse.” She forced herself to stop there, despite the urge to babble on under his watchful gaze. Knowing that Nick used stony silences to goad people into revealing more than they intended didn’t make it any easier to stay quiet and not fidget. An oppressive silence fell between them, broken only by a gentle tick from the cooling stove behind her. 

Finally, Nick huffed out a breath. “So, someone in my head who isn’t me threatened you, and you’ve been trying to find a way to fix it. And I’m guessing one of the terms is that you can’t tell me?” She nodded solemnly. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to her that Nick would put things together so quickly. “And this started right after I had Amari connect me to the component you pulled out of Kellogg’s head. It’s him, isn’t it?” Mal blinked furiously at him, afraid to say the name herself and hoping he’d take her blinking as agreement. The synth seemed to understand, nodding slightly before continuing.

“So what is it he wants from you?” 

Her voice came out in a whisper. She still hated the idea of letting Kellogg kill Shaun, even though she had begun to think Deacon was right to suggest letting it happen. “Revenge. He said that Shaun had set him up to be killed by me,” her shoulders slumped, “I think he’s right.” Nick stepped closer to her, but she didn’t try to reach out for him again.

“What is he holding over you?” Mal shivered and looked away, chilled at the memory of Kellogg’s threat: her first, then Nick. She didn’t see Nick reach out before his hand wrapped around hers and squeezed gently, prompting her to look up and meet his eyes. 

“You. He’ll kill you,” Nick’s voice was quiet and certain. She shook her head. 

“Both of us. He said he’d kill you from within after killing me,” she managed to make it sound matter-of-fact. Nick nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He seemed to be considering something. Mal sighed and looked down to watch his fingers intertwining with her own. “I’m so sorry, Nick. I…if it was just me he threatened, I would have told you. But he knows…” She trailed off, afraid to say how she felt. It was comical, how she could infiltrate raider camps and sneak around Deathclaws with less fear than putting her emotions into words. A quiet voice in her mind wondered if that said more about her or about humanity in general. 

Nick’s other hand, the skeletal one, touched her chin and gently guided her attention back up to his face. She hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten, and her eyes darted over his face before meeting his eyes. 

“He knows what?” his voice was quiet. She stifled an urge to bite her lower lip as silence stretched between them again. _Well, nothing for it now._

“…that I love you.” It came out as barely more than a whisper. Mal had time to see the lights of his eyes brighten before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers and her eyes slid shut. 

The kiss was gentle, barely more than a meeting of lips, but Mal tried to commit as much as she could to memory anyway. Nick’s lips were thin and scarred, but they felt slightly cool and textured against hers in a way that reminded her of rough silk. She reached up to cup his cheek, not wanting the moment to end. Mal couldn’t help the tiny sigh that escaped her when he pulled back and regarded her with bright eyes. 

“We’re going to get through this together Mal,” she could tell he was doing his best to sound confident. “Since we’ve been talking about him, I think he’s going to be in control soon.” No need to say who _he_ was. Mal nodded glumly, the sudden rise in her spirits dampened by the reality of the situation. 

“Listen. When he comes, you tell him whatever you have to. Do what you have to do,” Nick’s hands moved to her shoulders, gripping her firmly. Mal could almost feel him willing her to understand. “And when he’s gone, we can figure out what to do together. We’re still partners, aren’t we?” 

Mal met his gaze for a long moment. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” It felt like such a small thing to offer, but she tried to look more confident than she felt. However she must have looked, it seemed to satisfy the detective, who smiled before wrapping his arms around her. Turning her face to the crook of his neck, Mal inhaled his smoky scent as she gripped him tightly, acutely aware that she may not get another chance. Nick’s torso was warm against her chest and she let herself relax against him when she felt his breath at her ear. 

“And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like we needed some payoff between Nick and Mal here. I mean, both of them know how they feel, they just needed to admit it. Also, Nick's a smart one. If he worked out that he had memory corruption and thought about it, I can believe he'd grasp the situation pretty quickly. So here we are. Two people, and a fic writer who's hungry for an omelette even though it's 12:30 am. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos, guys. I love that people are still finding this and leaving sweet remarks. It's been a trying few months, and not only do your words brighten my day, they help me want to sit down and write. Which helps shake off some of my stress. So thank you, again. Love you guys.


	8. Deadline

_Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

Standing in her living room, wrapped in Nick’s coat and arms, Mal considered the phrase while she waited for Kellogg to emerge her partner’s mind. She felt that whoever came up with it had never experienced it in quite the same context as she was right now. Still, she wasn’t letting go of Nick. Heaven knew she might not get another chance to be so close, pressed against him with her face against the side of his neck. She could feel slight movement under her lips from a coolant line just under the plating on his throat and wished circumstances were different, that she could trace the line with her lips and tongue and see what kind of reactions she would earn from the normally calm synth. Filing the thought away for later, she contented herself with rubbing small circles on his shoulders with her thumbs. In turn, he pressed his lips to her temple and sighed. 

Mal couldn’t be sure how long they stayed like that, just that she felt happier than she had in…hell, she didn’t even know. She had no idea how or why Nick had decided to reciprocate her feelings out of the blue like this, but knowing he did was enough for her. Even knowing how screwed up the situation was couldn’t put a damper on her emotions just then. 

Sadly, it was over all too soon. There was an almost imperceptible change in Nick’s posture, a stiffening of his back and arms. It might have gone unnoticed under normal circumstances, but Mal couldn’t help but notice it in her current position. Then the arms around her tightened to the point of pain, pushing the air from her lungs and making her fight for the next breath. Synth bodies weren’t made to squeeze the life out of a person any more than the average human, but they had the advantage in strength, as Mal already knew. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see what was happening. 

“What did I tell you, sugar?” Kellogg’s voice was rough, angry. Mal hoped Nick hadn’t had his pistol on him this morning. She opened her mouth to answer, but Kellogg cut her off.

“I believe I told you not to tell your little clockwork boyfriend about me. I was very specific, wasn’t I?” She felt Nick’s skeletal hand tangle in her hair, tilting her head away from his neck. Gasping for air, she tried make amends. 

“I’m sorry. He figured it out on his own. I can’t lie to him when he can see what happened in his memories,” she babbled. A thought occurred to her as she said it. Nick had said the memory ‘looked like’ he’d been threatening her. Did that mean he couldn’t see and hear everything clearly when Kellogg was in control? And did that mean the same for Kellogg? She could only hope so, and that any lack of clarity would work in her favor. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt Nick.” Mal pled, almost sobbing. 

She still hadn’t opened her eyes (why bother?), so she didn’t see the punch coming. She barely registered the lack of pressure on her torso before the blow knocked her backwards, snapping her head backwards and pulling some of her hair out in the joints of Nick’s unplated hand. In her time in the wastes, Mal had learned to take a hit better than she ever had before the war, but the strength of the blow still made her stagger backwards against the stove. Her right eye ached and was already tingling as the swelling started, and she could feel the warm sting of a split in her eyebrow. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing she’d managed to stay on her feet as Kellogg advanced on her. The expression on his face, cold and blank, scared her far more than his anger could have. 

“You’re sorry,” he mimicked in a nasally falsetto. This time, she saw the blow coming as he backhanded her with his bare hand. The steel fingertips raked across her face, leaving shallow cuts in their wake. “Don’t hurt him,” Kellogg mocked her as he punched her in the mouth, splitting her lips against her teeth. She barely kept on her feet, supporting herself against her stove as she tasted blood and blinked more of it from her split brow out of her eye. “I’ve been generous with you, beautiful. I’ve left you alone, mostly, and all I told you to do was get me into the Institute to shoot your son, and not tell the synth about me. And what did you do?” He leaned in close to her, gripping her chin to force her to look him in the face. “What did you do?” He repeated, voice low and dangerous.

Mal didn’t try to resist. She looked him in the eyes as best she could, through the swelling and blood. “I’m sorry,” she tried again. Kellogg responded with a sharp slap. At least this time he’d used Nick’s complete hand, but clearly apologies weren’t the way to go. “I have been working on getting you into the Institute, though. I’ve got the Railroad pulling all of their people together for an assault. We’re going to go in, take over the relay, and destroy it. You’ll get to shoot Shaun then. I know it’s been taking some time, but I’ve had to work to get everyone together and keep the Institute from getting suspicious” Her voice shook, but she kept eye contact, praying that Kellogg would accept her offering. She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him about the rest of the work she’d been doing with Tinker Tom on a way to knock out both Nick and Kellogg together, or her preparations with Dr. Amari.

He examined her through narrowed eyes, apparently weighing her words. Mal hardly dared to breathe. Finally, he leaned back slightly. “Fine. You have one week to finish this. You know what happens if I don’t get what I want in a week, right?” Mal’s heart sank as she nodded frantically. Getting into the Institute was the easy part. Could Tom and the Doc be ready in a week? 

Her pondering didn’t last long as Kellogg released her chin before sinking his fist into the pit of her stomach. She folded around his hand with a wheeze before crumpling to the floor, hands pressed to her abdomen as she gasped. Above her, Kellogg growled. “That’s for telling your boyfriend about me.” From her position on the floor, she saw his foot draw back and flinched. The kick caught her low in the ribs, forcing what little air she’d managed to get back out of her. The pain was immediate as she fought for oxygen. “And that’s for whatever else you’re planning.” 

Mal fought the urge to gag over the pain and the compulsive coughing for air. She panted, trying to take small breaths and hoping he’d wait before hitting her again. She dimly thought the last blow had cracked a rib. Glancing up, she saw Kellogg watching her struggle. He looked bored, and she felt anger kindling in her heart. Sometime soon, she was going to end him. She held onto the thought as she tried to breathe again, her ribs feeling too small. Grimacing, she spat blood on the floor. 

Suddenly, there was a furious barking at her door, complete with the sound of paws scrabbling to get in. Mal thought she’d never heard a more beautiful sound. Kellogg half-turned to look towards her front door, then turned back and grabbed a fork from the countertop and bent all but one of the tines back. Mal frowned as she attempted to sit up. What was he up to?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. As voices started to sound outside her door, Kellogg jammed the bent fork into the exposed wires in Nick’s neck, breaking through some of the insulation. Mal stifled a cry as light sparked from the shorted electronics and his eyes went dark. The synth’s body hit the ground in front of her with a dull thump. Crawling to him, she inspected the damage, trying to hold the panic at bay as her blood dripped onto his shirt.

There was knocking at the door now, with Preston’s voice calling to her over Dogmeat’s barking. Peeling herself away from Nick, she stumbled to her feet and went to the door as it shook in its frame under a heavy blow. She couldn’t be sure of controlling the situation outside, but letting the Minuteman break open her door seemed like the worst way to start. She quickly scrubbed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away the worst of the blood before taking as deep a breath as she could manage and going outside, quickly shutting the door behind her. 

“General, we heard some commot--what the hell?” Preston faltered as he took in her appearance. A small crowd had gathered around her door in a semicircle, and she could hear a murmur run through them. To her immense relief, she caught sight of Deacon in the group, watching her carefully through his sunglasses. Pretending to be annoyed (her lack of morning cheer was well-known to her neighbors), she reached up to rub the bridge of her nose before quickly flicking her fingers in the handsigns Deacon had taught her. 

_Help. Ally inside._

She saw a faint nod from him as she dropped her hand and turned back to Preston. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Deacon drifting away from the crowd and slipping around the side of her home. Dogmeat butted against her legs with a whine, letting her rub his ear in appreciation as she considered the Minuteman in front of her. 

_Please hurry, Deke…_

“Just a little bit of a fight, Preston. It’s not as bad as it looks,” Mal opted for half-truth. No way he’d ever believe she hadn’t just been in a fight, after all. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down. Judging by the look Preston was giving her, he was clearly not impressed with her explanation. She stared back as impassively as she could manage, hoping Deacon would come to her rescue soon. Finally, he gestured at her face. 

“What do you have in your house that could beat you up like this?” he asked. Another ripple went through the crowd. Mal scowled as she heard Marcy Long saying something about her bringing home dangerous things without caring about the town. Genuinely aggravated, she took a breath, shuddering with pain as she counted to ten in her head to hold her annoyance at bay. Luckily, Mal was saved from having to answer as the door behind her opened and shut again. She kept eye contact with Preston as Deacon gave a short, sheepish laugh behind her. 

“Sorry about the rude awakening, folks. It’s my fault. I brought my sister here,” she felt Deacon bump her shoulder affectionately, “a Deathclaw egg to cook. And well, things got out of hand.”

Preston kept his gaze on Mal. “Is that what happened?” 

She nodded slightly, never breaking eye contact. Preston was the sort of person who thought maintaining eye contact represented the truth. “He brought one that was already fertilized by accident. It’s already taken care of, though.” She grinned, hoping to pass off the story as one of the many weird things that seemed to happen around her. Hopefully her teeth weren’t too full of blood. Mal sensed Deacon nodding behind her.

“I think next time I want a Deathclaw egg omelet, I’ll just go to Diamond City,” he chuckled, managing to be sheepishly charming and staggeringly full of crap at the same time. The crowd at her door seemed to accept this, though, breaking up as people drifted back to their routines. Preston gave Mal a look that said they would be discussing the matter again later before stalking off towards the town gates. She waited until the settlers had dispersed entirely, absently rubbing Dogmeat’s ear before she turned and went inside, closely followed by her dog and ‘brother’.

As soon as she heard the door click shut behind her, she sagged in pain, no longer willing to stand up straight. She could feel Deacon’s gaze on her as she grabbed her toolbox and returned to the kitchen, dropping to her knees beside Nick’s unconscious body. Dogmeat sniffed at the detective’s face and looked at her with a whine as she pulled a voltmeter out of the box, along with her notes on synth repair. 

“Kellogg came back out to play, huh?” Deacon’s tone was light, deflecting. Mal recognized it as his ‘serious business’ voice. She spared him a glance before going back to checking voltages. He looked worried, even behind his ridiculous sunglasses. 

“Yes. He’s _given_ ,” Mal almost spat the word, “me a week to finish getting him into the Institute.” 

Deacon considered this as she continued working as quickly as she dared. “Do you want me to go to Desdemona? Tell her to start pulling all the heavies in?” She nodded as she pulled a spool of recycled wire from her toolbox and flipped to a wiring diagram in her notes. “And Tinker Tom? He said he was almost finished with his project for you. I can talk to him, too.” 

She shot him a grateful smile. “Please. I need to help Nick, and then I’ll follow you.” Deacon nodded, then stopped and fidgeted with a snap on his leather jacket. “What is it, Deke?”

Deacon shook his head. “I hate to be overprotective here, but I don’t like having to leave you here like this.” She gave him another smile, hoping to be reassuring.

“Deacon. He wouldn’t have given me a deadline if he meant to kill me today. And he won’t kill Nick until that happens, either.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “And I’ll be fine. I’ll patch myself up and grab a stimpak as soon as I’m done here.” At least the bleeding had slowed down, if the stiffness on her brow and lips were any indication. “Besides, it’ll take some time for Des to get everyone rounded up, so the sooner you talk to her the better.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded again. “Okay. I’ll go get them warmed up for you.” His tone suggested he was trying to hide his concern, same as Mal. She rocked back on her heels and regarded him solemnly. 

“Deacon. Thank you for everything,” she held his eyes for a moment, hoping he’d understand just how grateful she really was to him. As he finally turned to leave, she called after him. “I’ll see you later, brother.” There was an answering snort from the spy as the door shut behind him. A second later, she heard the lock click. She couldn’t remember giving him a key to her house, but she was glad all the same. 

Taking a pair of wire cutters from her kit, she set back to her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't seen Kellogg in awhile. Naturally, he's pissed.


	9. Aftermath

::Boot Sequence Initiated::

>Core System…Warning.  
>>Cause: Cold Boot  
>Unexpected Shutdown 96 Minutes Ago.  
>>Cause: Power Supply Damage.

_Repairs?_

>Unknown Query.

_Status?_

>Power Supply Repaired.  
>>Authorized Repair Technician: Peterson, Mallory J.  
>Power Supply Check Satisfactory.  
>Continue Boot Sequence?

_Please._

>Unknown Command.

_Yes._

>Temperature Control…Satisfactory.  
>Servo Control…Satisfactory.  
>Short-Term Memory…Satisfactory.  
>Long-Term Memory…New Corrupted Memory Found.  
>>Time: 114 Minutes Ago. Review?

_Yes._

>Memory Playback Commenced.

_…Shit._

>Unknown Command.

_Continue boot sequence._

>Continuing Boot Sequence.  
>Sensory Equipment…Satisfactory.  
>Self-Test Complete. 

::Resuming Normal Function::

 

Nick shuddered slightly as his various systems came back online. As his optics warmed up, amber light fading into color and definition, he found Mallory hovering over him. Her face was a collage of bruises and cuts, with brown crusts and smears of dried blood where she’d tried to wipe it away at some point. Mal’s red hair lay loose and lank around her face and neck, where sweat and blood had made it cling to her skin, except for a frizzed knot on one side. Nick knew without looking at his skeletal hand that he’d find her hair caught in the joints. Her right eye was hidden behind swollen eyelids, but the left was too wide, whites showing clearly around her light brown iris. There was a damp, shuddering sound from her chest as she struggled to take a deep breath, and Nick couldn’t help but notice that she was trembling, limbs threatening to dump her as she balanced herself on her hands and knees as she stared into his face. 

He wished he didn’t know why.

There was a sense of expectation and dread in the air. As he looked up at Mal, he realized she was waiting for him to say something. Something in his chest clenched as he understood; she had no way to know if he was still _her_ Nick. He reached up to touch her face with his good hand, wanting to reassure her. 

“Mallory. Oh hell, doll. I’m so sorry.” Not nearly an adequate statement, but he knew nothing else would be, either.

At her name, she sobbed; a hurt sound that seemed to come all the way up from her toes. Whatever edge she’d been skirting, she was over it now. Dropping her head onto his chest, she wept, grief and fear and useless anger spilling out of her. He only hesitated for a moment

_Your hands did this_

before he embraced her, trying to find unharmed places on her face to caress with his good hand while he kept the steel one on her back, where he wouldn’t have to see the ginger hairs wrapped in the joints. Feeling frustrated and angry and _useless_ , he rubbed circles on Mal’s back and let her cry, not knowing what to say. What could he possibly say that would be enough? Even her dog seemed at a loss, simply butting his head under her arm and whining softly at her. 

When the worst of Mal’s tears had passed, Nick shuffled himself into a sitting position against her kitchen cabinets, worried that her awkward position was making it harder to breathe. Mal clung to him the entire time, still weeping but quieter now. Cradling the stricken vault dweller against his chest, Nick surveyed the kitchen. He’d seen worse, but the scene disquieted him. It wasn’t the amount of blood; it was the way it had splattered, suggesting the force that Kellogg had used against Mal. For once, Nick envied humans the ability to cry; he felt scoured, like someone had scrubbed gravel against the inside of his chest. Frowning, he buried his face in Mal’s hair, not sure if he wanted to hide more from her or himself.

As Mal started to pull herself back together, she began recounting what Kellogg had done. She kept her voice low and matter-of-fact, now that she’d gotten past her panic. Nick listened without interruption. Like her injuries and the sight of the kitchen, he didn’t really want to know. But he himself had told Mal to ride out Kellogg’s visit, and he couldn’t flinch away from her account. He owed her that much, at the very least. Dogmeat rested his head on Nick’s leg, watching his mistress with clear concern. Mal kept one hand on the dog’s head, rubbing his ears intermittently as she spoke. 

A heavy silence fell when Mal finished talking. Nick kept rubbing circles on her back while a treacherous part of his mind kept trying to replay the memory left behind by Kellogg’s visit. Every time he tried to shut it off and put the files aside, it came back in flashes and sensations. He squeezed his eyes shut against Mal’s hair, breathing in her scent to keep himself in the moment. 

Finally, he shook himself from his dour thoughts and pulled back to look at Mal’s face. She had stilled against him, eyes heavy lidded and lips slightly parted. Even with the swelling and bruising, Nick knew that look from months of companionship. It was a look that said his dame was about to fall asleep. Nick stifled a sigh. He’d entertained thoughts of Mal falling asleep on his chest sometimes, in the small hours of the morning, but never quite like this. Knowing he needed to get her patched up before she drifted off entirely, he gently sat her up before cupping his arms under her knees and shoulders. Mal obliged him, nestling into his shoulder with her arms around his neck with a sigh. Being careful not to jostle her, he lifted her effortlessly and carried her into her bedroom, Dogmeat at his heels. Placing Mal on her bed, he helped her ease his trenchcoat off her shoulders before letting her lay back. Awakened by the movement, he saw her lips twist in a wry smile.

“What is it?” he asked, wondering what kind of thought could have pulled a smile from her at a time like this. 

She reclined in her pillows and shot a drily amused look at him as he grabbed stimpacks and Med-X from a box on her desk. “Every time I’ve thought about you taking me to bed, I never envisioned it quite like this.” Her voice was tired and still thick from crying, but Nick still chuckled despite himself, amused by hearing the way her thoughts echoed his own. 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” She raised an eyebrow at that as he sat beside her with the chems. Even in her pain and exhaustion, her arch demeanor evaporated as she eyed the needles. Nick watched her fidget out of the corner of his eye as he tapped the sides of the hypodermics with his steel fingers. He’d never liked dosing her with chems; she hated them so much that he felt heartless whenever the need arose. Now that he knew why she hated them, combined with the reason she needed them now, he felt almost physically ill. 

“I know you hate this,” he tried to reassure her, “but we need to get you healed up before we go join up with the Railroad. Some medicine, a nap, a meal, and then we’ll go.” 

“Nick, we have a deadline here,” she tried to sound exasperated rather than nervous. Nick frowned in mock displeasure, willing to let her pretend if that was what she needed. Hell, maybe it was what he needed, too. 

“Yes, but how far do you think you could run right now your broken ribs? Could you fight if you had to?” Mal frowned at him, knowing he was right but hating to admit defeat. Nick’s voice softened. “Doll, the time it takes to heal you now is worth it. We’ll be okay.” 

She sighed and held her arm out for him without further comment, looking away into a corner of the room. Nick made the injections as quick and gentle as he could. By the time he’d finished with the second stimpak, the Med-X was making its effects apparent, her pupils constricted and her breathing slow. Gathering the spent hypodermics, he drew her blanket over her and kissed her forehead before turning to leave. 

“Get some rest, doll. I’ll have something for you to eat when you wake up.”

Before he could slip away, Mal grabbed his wrist. 

“Nick. Please stay?” Her voice was soft. 

Nick sighed inwardly as he looked down at her. What he really wanted to do was go find Sturges and help him with whatever maintenance needed doing around town. He felt an urge to keep his hands busy, to find a distraction from the marks on Mal’s body. But who was he kidding? He wouldn’t have turned down a request like that on any other day, and he damn well wasn’t turning her down now. He gave her a lopsided smile as he set the used chems aside.

“Anything you need, doll."

Easing onto the bed beside her, he slipped an arm around her waist as she snuggled against him, showing every sign of enjoyment at the close contact. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he smiled when she hummed approval. After a moment, he felt Dogmeat climb onto the bed and lay down near Mal’s feet with a huff. Even in his agitation, having Mal so close and content in his arms was relaxing. Letting his eyes slide closed, he listened to her breathing even out and lose its ragged edge, waiting for her to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Nick generally doesn't swear, but I felt it worked in his boot sequence. You have to figure that a situation serious enough to pull a swear from a gentleman like Nick is serious indeed. Poor Nick. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome. <3!


	10. Deleting Hope

It was early evening before Nick and Mal set out for the Old North Church. Slipping out of town while Preston was on the opposite end of the neighborhood, they moved quickly and quietly through the Commonwealth. Mal set the fastest pace she could manage, pausing only occasionally to scout out the path ahead with a sniper rifle equipped with night scopes, a prize from one of her exploits with MacCready. Nick kept up with her easily, a gold-eyed shadow in the gathering darkness. Every time she paused, Mal found her eyes drawn to Nick. Every time he saw her looking at him, he gave her a small, tense smile. But whenever she watched him without being noticed, he wore a frown and stared into the distance. Picking her way around a rusted out car, Mal tried to think of what she could say to help him. 

She knew why he was upset, naturally. It didn’t take a genius to guess that Nick was afraid and angry at himself for what had happened with Kellogg. After Mal had awakened and cleaned herself up, she’d emerged from her room to find her kitchen gleaming and smelling of Abraxo and an extravagant meal of Mirelurk queen steak ready for her. The stims had removed the evidence of Kellogg’s visit from her face while she’d slept, and a quick shower and change of clothes made her look as though it had never happened. Mal hadn’t really minded the scars and bruises she’d acquired during her time in the wasteland, but just this once, she was glad Nick didn’t have to keep being reminded. A small mercy, under the circumstances.

Nick’s hand on her arm broke her reverie. Tilting his head so that she could see his eyes under the fedora, he glanced ahead in a silent warning. Mal eased herself down behind some rubble before slowly bringing her scope up. Through the green filter, she could see movement ahead behind the bombed out walls of an old shop. She watched patiently as a single figure walked into the street ahead and smiled when she saw a ridiculous pair of sunglasses. As she looked on, the figure raised a hand and flashed a greeting in Railroad handsign. Pulling her eye from her scope, she caught Nick shaking his head and muttering.

“Does he ever take those things off?” Catching the synth’s eye, Mal shrugged. She’d wondered about it herself, especially at night. 

When Mal and Nick got close, Deacon grinned at them. Firmly believing that the day Deke took off his sunglasses would also be the day he was replaced by a synth, Mal nonetheless asked the question. 

“Excuse me, do you have a Geiger counter?”

Deacon nodded at her in approval. “Nope. Mine’s in the shop.” Nick looked on, faintly amused. “I thought I’d come lay out the red carpet for you.” The spy gave a half-bow, his grin never slipping.

Mal snorted inelegantly. “Sure. The ruins of Boston just scream ‘red carpet’. What’s going on?” 

“The party’s not quite ready yet. You and I have a couple of last-minute preparations to do,” Deacon sobered with a quick glance at Nick before turning back to Mal. “Tom sent you a package, and we’ve got to make a quick stop in Goodneighbor before we meet up with the gang.” Mallory tensed, then nodded. Eyes darting between his friends, Nick couldn’t help but think they weren’t discussing official business. 

Mal reached out and squeezed Nick’s arm before she and Deacon excused themselves. Nick watched them walk down a nearby alleyway before finding a quiet nook and taking out his cigarettes. He didn’t get the same rush of endorphins from smoking as a flesh and blood human, but he enjoyed the ritual. Besides, the original Nick Valentine had been a smoker, and people almost seemed to expect some vices from private detectives. He wondered how much of his life had been spent playing at roles for others. It was something he’d found refreshing about Mal when he’d met her; she was content to let him be himself, without expectation. 

A faint breeze picked up as he smoked his cigarette. Turning to keep the ember out of the wind, he caught snatches of conversation. 

“…doesn’t look like much….” Mal’s voice, sounding doubtful.

“…small packages….” That was Deacon. Even if his voice wasn’t distinctive enough, the teasing tone would have given him away.

A few more indistinguishable mumbles followed before Nick could pick up their words again.

“…..short-range. Need…..close.” Deacon.

Even at this distance, he could hear unhappiness in Mal’s response. “…handle that…”

“…last long….one chance….” Deacon sounded uncharacteristically serious that time. 

The breeze settled, leaving Nick with nothing more than the faint sound of voices in the distance. He frowned around his cigarette, thinking. He wasn’t a Railroad agent like Mal, but he’d tagged along with her enough to have some idea of how they operated. That hadn’t sounded like the organization’s usual business. 

A thought occurred to the detective. Before leaving Sanctuary, Mal had informed him what they were going to do. Go to Railroad Headquarters, meet up with all the agents that could be spared, and invade the Institute. Mal had assumed that once they reached her son, Kellogg would take over and…that would be that. Mal had dropped her eyes at that point, quailing away from saying exactly what Kellogg would be doing, but Nick could work that out for himself. After all, she’d told him Kellogg wanted revenge on the Director. 

Mal had seemed reluctant to discuss the plan in any great detail after that. Nick had let her retreat from the conversation; he didn’t really want to talk about any plan that involved letting Kellogg use his body again. He could have kicked himself as he realized there had to be more to her plan than that. Mal wasn’t stupid; of course she would have been pulling in favors to help boot Kellogg out of his head. She’d mentioned getting help from the Railroad and Amari earlier in her kitchen, hadn’t she? 

Nick felt a surge of hope fizzing through his circuitry. Whatever happened, Mal was going to rescue him. Again. He just hoped she didn’t start calling him ‘damsel.’ Although he’d wear happily wear a pink trenchcoat in exchange for rooting out his unwanted passenger. Almost as soon as he’d thought it, he froze. If Kellogg could access his memories the way he could see Kellogg’s…

He nearly punched the wall in his frustration. Letting himself think things like that… If Kellogg had beaten Mal up for simply admitting his existence to Nick, what would the old mercenary do if he thought she was trying to destroy him entirely? Unwillingly, an image of her blood splattered on old tile presented itself in his mind. Kellogg hadn’t even really been trying that time. Nick sighed as he scrubbed out his cigarette on the bricks beside him. 

Only one thing to do.

When Mal and Deacon came back around the corner, they found Nick leaned against a wall, hat tipped low over his face. There was a brief pause before he looked up and acknowledged them. Mal gave him a concerned frown. 

“Nick, are you alright?”

Nick answered her with a smile, the most genuine one she’d seen from him since he’d woken up on her kitchen floor. “Yeah, doll. Just deleting some files and running some diagnostics. Nothing to worry about.”

Mal regarded him closely in the darkness before nodding. “Right.” She looked preoccupied as her eyes turned in the direction of Goodneighbor. Nick had a sense that she was deeply worried about something she had to do, just trying to take things one step at a time. He wondered what it was.

And why did he suddenly feel so hopeful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I've just been in a good mood to write lately, huh? 
> 
> I know this chapter's a little shorter than usual, but I didn't feel we needed to go over every step of the trip to Goodneighbor and the Railroad HQ. Just an important bit. Also, I never intended the Railroad hand signals to be a thing when I first mentioned them. It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea a the time. But now, I feel like it fits my version of Deacon, as well as Mal. Let me know what you guys think in a comment, please. I looooove comments.


	11. Promises to Keep

Nick sat on the edge of the bay, looking out over the water as his feet dangled. In the east, the sky had begun to lighten; dawn was coming soon. A cigarette dangled half-forgotten in one hand, ash drifting into the water. Somewhere behind him and underground, a dozen Railroad agents and Mal were getting ready for the biggest fight of their mission, a day none of them had thought would ever come. The atmosphere in Railroad HQ was tense and excited, and Nick didn’t know how to feel about it. 

It wasn’t that he wanted the Railroad to fail. Plenty of good folks risked a lot to help synths escape the Institute, his dame included. But knowing that Mal’s son was the Director and he was tagging along so that Kellogg could take his body over again put a real damper on his mood. He wondered what was going to happen after Kellogg killed Shaun. Would he turn the gun on Mal? Himself? Would Mal be able to protect herself against whatever he did? Hanging his head, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, listening to a scrape of boots on the broken pavement behind him. He could feel a slight warmth at his side as Mal dropped down to sit beside him. Leaving his eyes closed for the moment, he took comfort in her presence. Mal didn’t say anything, just leaned against him with her head tipped onto his shoulder. Nick dropped his cigarette into the water and slipped his arm around her, thinking. 

Falling in love with Mal hadn’t been anything he’d done on purpose. He had even tried to resist it, thinking he could never be good enough for the vault dweller, waiting for her to come to her senses and settle down with a human. Kellogg had realized what they felt for one another and turned it into a weapon. And now that he’d admitted that he loved her, Nick was terrified of losing her. Perhaps it would be best, he thought, to walk away, delete his memories, and never see Mal again.

Mal gave a tired sigh, bringing Nick to his senses. Being scared was one thing, being selfish was another. Besides, he’d be damned if he’d give up all his memories and feelings of Mal. The deftness of her fingers when she was working on something, the shyness in her smile, even the sadness he saw on her face when she remembered all she’d lost since going to sleep in the Vault. Even the exasperating way she had of never giving herself a break, or getting herself into trouble because there was always one more area to explore. Nick had even made backup of those files where he hoped only he could access them, just in case. Still…

“Doll?” Mal pulled back and looked at him, hearing something serious in his voice. “Look, I need you to promise me something. If things get really bad down there, if Kellogg tries to hurt you,” his mouth refused to frame the words ‘kill you’, “I want you to fight back.” She stared at him, incomprehension giving way to anger as he watched.

“Are you asking me to kill you, Nick? Because I won’t.” She shook her head vehemently, moisture gathering in her eyes. She blinked furiously against the tears. “This mess is fucked up enough without losing you like that. No.” 

Nick reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently and ignoring the tightness in his chest. “Mallory. Waking up in your kitchen yesterday was bad enough. I don’t think I could take waking up to find your body,” he saw tears beginning to run down her face and pushed on, “If it comes down to it, I’d rather you survived than me.”

Mal tugged her hand away from his to scrub the tears from her eyes. Nick could read the tightness of her shoulders in the gesture and wondered what this conversation was costing them. She shook her head again, refusing to look at him. “That’s not fair, Nick. I—“

Her words cut off abruptly as he reached out and caught her chin with his hand, gently lifting her face to his. In the cold pre-dawn light, her brown eyes looked almost black. Even swollen with crying and ringed with shadows, Nick thought he’d never seen a more lovely pair of eyes. He just hoped he’d be able to go on seeing them. “Please, Mal. Don’t let it happen. I don’t want to check out, but kill me if you have to.”

Mal’s eyes searched his face as he took his hand away. She opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Nick could see anger and determination in her eyes as she struggled to find what she wanted to say. It was a look he’d seen once before, shortly before she’d unloaded a shotgun into Kellogg’s chest. Finally, she settled on saying, “I’ll deal with Kellogg. I promise.” 

Nick had a sense that what she was promising wasn’t exactly what he had asked for, but he felt a strong urge not to question her on it. If questioned, he couldn’t have said why, but he decided to trust his instinct after a moment’s consideration. Instead, he took out another cigarette. Watching Mal’s face through the bluish haze he asked gently, “Are you going to be okay, Mal? About your son?” 

To his surprise, Mal reached over and plucked his cigarette out of his fingers and took a drag. Nick watched her hold the smoke in before blowing it out in one long breath. When she tried to hand the cigarette back to him, Nick waved it off, letting her take another long pull, smoking like a condemned prisoner who just wants to be done with the inevitable. She didn’t meet his eyes as she tapped ash into the water, watching the ripples before she answered quietly, “I don’t know. The Railroad’s plans always included killing him. This is just a change in who’s holding the gun.” Her voice was brittle with grief, the words clipped and short. 

Nick pulled her close to his side, hugging her tight. “I’m sorry, Mallory. I’m sorry for everything.” He felt her shoulders shake under his hands for a moment before she leaned back to look at him. Her eyes gleamed wetly. With her face turned upwards in the light, Nick realized how tired she looked. 

“Nick. I know this is asking a lot, but I want you to stop feeling responsible for Kellogg,” despite her teary eyes, her voice was solid. Certain. “I want you to forgive yourself.” Nick frowned at her. 

“Doll, I don’t know if I can do that.” As soon as the words left his lips, he realized the unfairness of it. Mal was staring at him, anger and incredulity etched on her features. After what he’d asked her for, attempting to forgive himself was the least he could do. He shook his head ruefully at himself and the vault dweller. “But for you, I’ll try.” After a moment, she seemed to accept this, the indignant lines around her eyes softening before she leaned towards him again, resting her head on his shoulder. Hugging Mal to him, Nick settled his chin on top of her head, wondering if he’d get another chance to hold her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my friend vlalekat here for her help with this fic. She's a big help with writing and great fun to talk to. Her support makes me want to be a better storyteller, so show some love by reading and commenting on her works! :D


	12. Pain and Anger

_…plip.….plip….plip….._

Huddled against a wall, Mal hugged her knees to her chest, vainly hoping to block out the world. Block out everything. Maybe if she kept her face pressed tightly to her legs, she wouldn’t have to think. Wouldn’t have to feel. Her breath came in shallow, hitching gasps, too fast, too fast. 

_….plip….plip.….plip…_

Her ears still rang, deafened by too many gunshots in too close an area. No matter. She could still hear blood dripping. Or was that just in her head? Did it even matter? Even the air in the hallway she cowered in held the tangy smell of blood, underneath the pervasive smell of gunsmoke. 

_…plip..….plip….plip…._

Shaun’s last words echoed in her head. _You’re going to have to live with that._ He’d been so bitter. So caustic, disappointed beyond words. She couldn’t blame him. Even if he’d been manipulating her, she couldn’t blame him for his recriminations. 

_.…plip….plip…..plip…_

Once Shaun dismissed her, she had turned to find Kellogg standing in the doorway, staring at Shaun with naked good cheer. Watching him stalk into the room, Mal had turned and fled, not caring where she wound up, so long as it was away. When she heard the shot, she stumbled, hand finding the wall for support as her feet slid out from under her. 

_…plip…..plip….plip….._

Later, she might be vaguely grateful that it was only one shot. That she didn’t hear a scream. Now though, now all she could do was compress herself into as small a space as possible. Try not to think. Try not to feel. Every muscle in her body wound tight, trembling under the strain. Face streaked with tears she didn’t even know she was crying. 

_….plip…plip…..plip…._

The ringing in her ears was joined by another sound, rhythmic and controlled. Footsteps. Slow and deliberate. She didn’t need to listen to know whose they were. That they were coming for her. Some small part of her started screaming at herself, telling her to get up, to be ready. It was an effort to remember why.

_..plip….plip…pl-ip…._

The small voice couldn’t override the apathy of her limbs, the weight of her grief. Instead, she just waited until the footsteps came to a stop. Mal knew if she looked up, she’d see Kellogg standing over her, pistol still in hand. She wondered if her murder would hurt. She dimly thought an apology at Nick before opening her eyes blearily. 

_….plip…pl-ip....pip…._

Kellogg stood in Nick’s body, looking down at her. Pistol in hand. They locked eyes, yellow light against dark brown.

Mal felt a stirring of anger in her breast. Hopeless, stupid anger. Anger at herself. Anger at Kellogg. Anger at Shaun. Strangely, the growing rage made her feel better. Pushed aside the grief and left her a little space in which to think. She was grimly unsurprised to see Kellogg still in control of the synth’s body. The fury in her chest grew cold. She could almost feel frost on her breath. How dare he take the one person she had left?

“Nice work, beautiful. You led me right to him,” Kellogg gloated at her. “Do you want to know how he died? If he begged? If he forgave you?”

Mal found her hand sliding towards her pistol for an instant before Kellogg smiled. Invitingly. She realized what he was doing, that he wanted to goad her into shooting him, killing both him and Nick. Taking a deep breath, she stilled her hand. _Fuck that._ There was a certain satisfaction in watching Kellogg’s good humor fail when he realized she wasn’t taking the bait. Anger flashed over his face as he lifted a hand to slap her, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

They stayed that way for a moment in frozen tableau before Kellogg lowered his hand. “One parent to another. It never stops hurting. My gift to you, beautiful.” She continued to stare at him, face dull and emotionless. He slid his pistol away with a flourish at the end of his movement, a small trick borne out of long years of practice, before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Now that I’ve got a body again, I think I’m going to stay. Right. Here.” Mal couldn’t muster up a reaction to that. Wasn’t it exactly what she had expected? His breath was warm on her ear as he chuckled. “You know, killing always made me thirsty. Where’s a good place to drink around here?” The cheerfulness was back in his tone, taunting her. 

Her thoughts strayed to the small device in her pocket, the package Tinker Tom had sent her. She’d been uncertain about it when Deacon had delivered it to her. It resembled a lighter, hardly something she’d rescue a lover with. But she trusted Tom, and what choice did she really have? Deacon’s words sounded in her head, as clear as if he’d been beside her. 

_You’ve only got one chance at this._

This wasn’t her chance. But she’d make one. For Nick. And to wipe that goddamned smile off of Kellogg’s face once and for all. She ran her tongue over her lips, trying to find moisture against the dryness of her throat.

“The Third Rail. Goodneighbor.” Mal’s voice came out as a croak. Kellogg stood back up, smiling with forced bonhomie at the suggestion.

“Woman after my own heart. You’re welcome to join me, if you like,” he turned away from her and started down the hall, trenchcoat flaring behind him. “Or you can stay here and wait to die when your friends blow the place to kingdom come. Your choice,” he tossed over his shoulder at her. 

Mal didn’t have to think about it. Pushing herself up on unwilling limbs, she staggered down the hall after the bastard. She could wait to grieve. There was work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, on the way to an ending. Wheeee!
> 
> Naturally, we all knew Kellogg wasn't going to go 'poof' once Shaun died.


	13. Butcher's Bill

Mal shifted the weight in her arms. Her end of the burden was uncomfortable, flopping awkwardly and difficult to grip. Above her, the early evening sky was lit brightly from the west. 

It wasn’t the sun.

At the other end of the load, Deacon huffed as he corralled a dragging arm. Working silently and as quickly as they could, they carried Nick’s body towards the Memory Den, where Dr. Amari had been forewarned to have the loungers ready for one last memory transfer. Shifting her hold on the synth’s legs, Mal tried not to think about what lay ahead. What would be left if she couldn’t get Nick back safe. Deacon’s voice shook her out of her thoughts.

“I hope nobody’s around to watch this,” he muttered as they struggled across the square to the Memory Den’s scarlet doors. Mal panted with exertion. 

“No, I think everyone’s off watching…” she trailed off, not wanting to think about the grisly glow in the sky. The end of the Institute. If she breathed deeply, she could catch a whiff of smoke on the cool autumn air. She just hoped Des and Tom had evacuated as many people as possible before the explosion.

After walking to the teleport room and relaying out, Kellogg had been true to her suggestion. He’d headed straight for Goodneighbor. Mal had followed on wooden legs, keeping up through sheer determination. Once there, he’d sat in the Third Rail for hours, drinking and leering at any human woman who walked by. Mal hadn’t been able to bring herself to sit near him, instead parking herself in a chair by the stairs to the door. Occasionally, Kellogg would turn his stolen yellow eyes to her and wink, apparently untouched by the alcohol he was consuming.

The bar was packed, humans and ghouls alike partying in the wake of the Institute’s destruction. Mal thought she might be the only person not downing whiskey or Whitechapel Charlie’s beer. Magnolia managed to sing above the din, a testament to her art as she sang every upbeat song in her repertoire. She watched impassively as Hancock strolled in and leapt onto the bar, giving a rousing speech to the crowd that Mal barely registered. She thought the roguish ghoul shot her a look as he stepped down from the bar top, but then a crowd of cheering supporters closed around him and she couldn’t be sure. 

When Deacon turned up, she’d thrown her arms around him in a desperate hug, badly needing comfort. If he was surprised, the spy didn’t show it, squeezing back and whispering that he’d talked to Dr. Amari and Hancock for her. Pulling away, Mal looked at him and nodded once before returning to her seat. Glancing at the untouched bottle of Nuka-Cola in front of her, Deacon had made his way to the bar and come back with purified water, which he handed to her with one eyebrow raised over his sunglasses. With one last significant look, he’d slipped up the stairs. Mal knew when the right moment came, he’d be there. 

That moment came painfully slowly, after another couple of hours of watching the mercenary celebrating his new body. Mal spent the time keeping her mind carefully blank, digging her fingernails into her palms whenever she felt her control wavering. She wanted to fidget with the object in her pocket, but she didn’t dare. Instead she sat back, training a thousand-yard stare on Kellogg and letting the noise and ambience of the bar wash over her without touching the coldness in her chest. When Kellogg had risen and headed for the stairs with hardly a glance in her direction, Mal was on his heels, hand in her pocket. 

At the top of the stairs, Ham gave her an unreadable look before stepping behind her, covering the stairs down to the bar. Mal saw the dark gleam of a gun barrel in his hand at the same time she heard Kellogg jiggling the doorknob of the exit. Mal knew she had been gifted her chance when the synth spun to face her, sudden concern and fury fighting on his face. In the space of time it took for his eyes to widen, she pulled the little homemade device out her pocket and pressed a small red button on the side. There was a flash of light before his eyes went dark and he collapsed facefirst. Frozen, Mal stared at the body as Deacon appeared from behind an old ticket counter. As they stretched Nick between them and started lugging him out, Mal could only feel old and hollow. 

Now, Mal tried to shift Nick’s shoes into a more comfortable position in her armpits while Deacon fumbled with the door to the Memory Den. They shuffled the heavy body between them across the main floor, with Irma and Kent nowhere to be seen. Mal wondered vaguely if they had made themselves scarce for her or to join the revelers in the Rail. She was just grateful that Dr. Amari was waiting for them in the basement, the two linked memory loungers open and waiting. 

Once they had Nick’s body settled in the lounger, Mal turned to the other pod. Dr. Amari warned her one last time to be careful. She nodded at the other woman, feeling time run short. As she started to climb in, she felt Deacon squeeze her shoulder. Looking over her shoulder, she was surprised and touched to find he’d taken off the sunglasses, just this once. There was naked concern in his faded blue eyes. 

“Don’t go losing yourself in there. Come back, yeah?”

Mal nodded and climbed into the pod. As it closed over her, she could see Deacon move to lean against the wall next to her lounger, watching. 

And then, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Another short chapter. But I'm going somewhere with this, and the next chapter's shaping up to be a properly long one. 
> 
> Thanks to vlalekat again for looking this over for me!


	14. City of Memories

Mal woke up in a pre-War bed, in a pre-War room. Sitting up abruptly, she looked around, confused. After her experience in Kellogg’s memories, she hadn’t expected this. Where was the gaping void, the sparking synapses? This looked like a cheap hotel room, with its ugly brown and yellow bedspread and competent but bland paintings on the walls. Looking down at herself, she found her clothes had gone from scavenged leather armor to a blue swing dress, the kind she used to wear for a day out of the house. 

What the hell?

Finding her feet (clad in a pair of comfortable low heels the exact shade of blue as her dress), she gave the room a quick once-over. In the attached bathroom, she was only mildly surprised to see her face clean and carefully made up, eyeliner and shadow making her eyes stand out over suddenly red lips. Her hair appeared to have received the same treatment, smoothed into a careful updo. There was a list of checkout procedures and fire escape routes posted on the back of a door, confirming to her satisfaction that she was in a hotel of some sort. 

A nearby table had a tasteful purse sitting on it, one that had a wallet with her picture on a Massachusetts driver’s license, alongside a loaded snub-nosed pistol, a set of lockpicks, and a notepad with a pen clipped to its binding. The pen was the cheap kind given out by any number of businesses and bore the legend ‘Valentine Detective Agency’ above an address. With her heart beating hard and fast, Mal opened the door quietly and looked both ways down a carpeted hallway. Nothing. Checking the purse again, she realized there was no key back into the room and thought hard for a moment.

If Kellogg had been in control for several hours, then Nick’s personality must have been pushed deep inside. Waking up in a dress and makeup could have been Kellogg’s attempt to mock her, but he wouldn’t have given her a loaded gun. Let alone an address to the Valentine Detective Agency. Whatever the rules here were, Mal suspected Nick was trying to help her. Did that mean he was actively aware of her presence? Could he talk to her the way Kellogg had when she’d been in his memories? Or had he been pushed too far away and could only passively help her?

She took a deep breath before stepping out into the hallway and letting the door click shut behind her. No matter whose personality and memories had built this place, she’d have to move forward to find Nick or Kellogg. The easiest thing to start with was visiting the agency. At least she’d been given a gun. Whether or not that would do her any good here, it made her feel better to have it.

Finding the stairs, she descended quickly, finding herself in a shabby lobby. The wallpaper was faded and lifting away from its seams over a carpet that had long ago seen its pile flattened. There was a man in a grease stained shirt sitting inside a booth who barely glanced her way over whatever was on the television in front of him. Moving closer, she could see the television screen was showing the hold pattern from the screens in the Memory Den’s loungers. Disquieted, she examined the man in the booth and found that his features were bland and instantly forgettable. If asked, she realized she couldn’t have described him in anything but the most general terms. She was reminded of a play she’d been in during college, of the set dressing used to sketch out a setting that couldn’t possibly be real. Of props.

Aside from the man in the booth, there didn’t seem to be anything of interest in the hotel lobby. On her way out, she saw a rudimentary map of the area on a tourism brochure and grabbed it. The map even had a helpful star on it marked ‘You Are Here’, a few streets from Scollay Square. Goodneighbor. Pulling the pen out of her purse, she checked its address against the map. Valentine’s Agency was only a few blocks away, if the map was to be believed. Placing the pen and the map in her purse, she looked around and found more blandly indescribable people on the sidewalks. Even the cars on the road were…just cars. Mal had spent her formative years running around a garage, and the sight of cars she didn’t come up with a make or model for was as unsettling as the forgettable people or the nondescript buildings around her. 

Don’t think about it. One problem at a time.

Squaring her shoulders, she set out for the agency, quietly pleased at how easily walking in heels came back to her after months in boots. The sky above her was bright and cloudless, the air tingling with just enough coolness to be noticeable, but there was no smell of the city, of bodies or refuse or car exhaust. The sidewalks beneath Mal’s feet were suspiciously clean, bereft of stains and old chewing gum. Even the cars were clean, and there was a distinct lack of personal preservation stations on the street corners, a sight that had been fairly common in Mal’s day. 

It was as if she were wandering through a movie set; filled with extras and lacking the details she remembered from her old life. People sat in restaurants, but nobody seemed to be eating, only moving their hands in a way that suggested animated conversation. Other people were lined up at bus stops, but nobody fidgeted or looked around for the next bus. The extras on the sidewalks seemed to make way for her, letting her pass easily. Whenever she made eye contact with them, their regard seemed to slide away from her immediately as they strolled by. There was a murmur of crowd noise, but Mal could find no source for it; none of the prop people were speaking. Nick had mentioned to her that his memories from the original human Nick were fuzzy; was this what he had meant?

With a little less than a block to go before reaching Valentine’s Agency, a spot between Mal’s shoulder blades began to itch. Stepping up to a street corner, she waited for the walk light with a group of the non-people, turning her body so that she could look behind her discreetly. There was a flicker of movement as someone moved quickly into an alley in the distance. Something about the movement was so unlike the motions of the prop-like inhabitants of the place that Mal could guess who it was. 

If she ran, would Kellogg attack her? Certainly the presence of the prop people wouldn’t stop Kellogg if he wanted to hurt her here, and it would make sense that he wouldn’t want her reaching Nick. Another thought struck her: what would happen if she died here? With so little distance left between her and the detective agency, she decided to risk it. Feeling absurdly like a doomed woman in a bad film, Mal dashed down Blackstone Street, looking for the right street number while she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. 

Against all expectation, she did not trip or twist her ankle as she fled down the street. Instead, she saw a familiar neon sign of a heart impaled by an arrow that pointed between two buildings. Darting down the small alley, she charged through the unlocked door at the end. Slamming the door behind her, the uncomfortable itching on her back faded. Catching her breath, she turned slowly. And blinked in surprise.

She was in Nick’s office from Diamond City. Slightly better organized, with less of the omnipresent grime of the Commonwealth, but instantly recognizable. A man she didn’t know was sitting behind the desk, staring at Mal over an open file folder with an impassive expression. Embarrassed and annoyed with herself for it, she stared back, unconsciously noting his broad shoulders and sandy brown hair in an untidy cut. Watching the man rise to his feet and start around the desk, something about the way he moved sent a thrill of familiarity through Mal. 

Nick. Human somehow in this strange place, but still Nick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally meant to do the entire trip into Nick's mind as one long chapter, but I'm beginning to think it's going to take awhile. So here's the first part, at any rate. As always, please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy!


	15. The More Things Change

“May I help you?” Whatever he looked like here, he still sounded like the synthetic Nick she knew. Mal wondered if it the original Nick had sounded the same way before the war. Her chest ached with the need to throw her arms around him and let him comfort her, but he was smiling with polite concern. No recognition. He didn’t know her here. She clenched her hands on top of her purse and forced her face into a smile.

“I’m sorry; I thought-“ Mal broke off, wondering how to proceed. “-I thought I was being followed by someone and ran in here. Are you Mr. Valentine?” There. Nice and polite, with a dash of damsel in distress.

There was a flicker of a frown, eyebrows knitting together as muddy green eyes darted to the door behind her, but his voice never wavered. “Mr. Valentine was my father. Call me Nick.” He held out a hand. 

Even some two centuries removed from her own time, Mal moved on autopilot to shake his hand the way her father had taught her. She saw Nick’s eyebrow twitch upwards, whether in surprise or approval she couldn’t tell. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mallory Peterson.” As soon as he heard the name, something in his face closed off, guarded. He let go of her hand.

“I’ve been told about you, Mrs. Peterson. Boston PD said to expect you,” Nick returned to his seat behind the desk, flicking the open file shut and affording Mal a moment to consider. Boston police? She wasn’t a cop. Never had been. What was going on here?

_Mrs.?_ Mal’s eyebrows knitted together. Peterson was her maiden name, not Nate’s name. She searched her memory, trying to remember if she’d ever told Nick that. She didn’t think she had, but couldn’t be sure. 

Making himself comfortable, he waved at one of the seats before his desk. She sat, folding her hands and wondering what was coming next. She felt as if she’d stumbled on stage during a play without knowing the lines. Nick regarded her over steepled fingers, a look Mal recognized as one of her synth’s interrogation tricks. Dig a hole of silence and wait to see if your subject would jump in. She kept her hands still on her purse, trying to resist the urge to fidget. Finally, the detective lowered his hands.

“Mrs. Peterson, your husband’s gone missing, is that right?” It wasn’t exactly a question. 

Mal nodded agreeably, assuming the role she’d been given in this fiction. What husband? It wasn’t as if her Nick didn’t know she was a widow. Was she supposed to act the part of a distraught woman? She considered faking a sniffle, but dismissed the notion swiftly. Her Nick would have picked up on the ruse right away, and she had no reason to believe that this human version wouldn’t. Best to keep it simple. 

He sighed and flipped open the file folder in front of him again, pulling something loose from a paper clip before handing it across the desk to her. “Is this him?”

Glancing down, Mal’s heart leapt when she saw the photograph. It wasn’t Nate’s dark eyes looking at her, like she had expected. Instead, it was a pair of golden eyes in a battered synthetic face. _Nick._ Just seeing the synth made her eyes tear, trebling the image. She’d been through a little slice of hell in the last few days, and the strain of keeping her broken emotions together was beginning to tell. Heavy exhaustion filled her, shoulders sagging protectively around the photograph cradled in her hands. 

At least she wasn’t going to have to pretend to be distraught, at this rate. 

“It’s going to be alright, Mrs. Peterson.” She was too tired to flinch in surprise at his hand on her shoulder. When had he come back around the desk? Blinking hard to push back the tears, Mal found the detective perched on the edge of the chair beside her. “There’s a copy of the statement you gave the police here. Would you check it over, make sure there’s nothing you can add to it that might help?” He handed her a typewritten paper from the folder. She took a long breath to stabilize herself before squaring her shoulders and looking at the paper.

According to what was supposedly her testimony, her ‘husband’ had been working at the Commonwealth Institute of Technology on a routine surveillance job. Apparently her synth detective was still a synth detective. One corner of Mal’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile at that. When he hadn’t returned, she’d contacted the Boston PD, who had found no evidence of foul play and had suspected that he’d simply run away on his own. Even knowing the entire thing was a fictional construct of Nick’s mind, Mal felt hot indignation at that. A handwritten note at the bottom from a Sergeant Adams said that he was referring the case to a private detective. She lowered the page into her lap with a frown. 

Still perched on the edge of his desk, human Nick chuckled at her reaction. “Yeah, I don’t believe Nicky would run off, either. I used to work with him back when I was on the force. He’s a good man.” Mal looked at him, surprised even when she knew she shouldn’t be. Why wouldn’t this version of Nick be totally unaware of the Nick she knew? 

“So, Mrs. Peterson, I’ve been going through your husband’s files. The job he was on was pretty simple, he was supposed to be keeping an eye on one Skinny Malone.” Mal’s frown deepened. Malone was very much dead in the real world; she’d wound up taking him out when she’d rescued Nick. What on Earth was he doing here? And where the hell was Kellogg? Her fingers itched for the gun in her purse as she pursed her lips. 

“Skinny’s a small-time crook. Wants to be a made man, but he’s a little too egotistical to be taken on by one of the Families. But lately, he’s found a new right-hand man, fellow by the name of Kellogg.” Mal’s head snapped up as her gaze sharpened on the detective’s face. He stared at her. “You’ve heard of him?”

She could have kicked herself for such a noticeable reaction. Her mind raced for a suitable excuse. “Yes. One of the lawyers at the District Attorney’s office talked about him over lunch,” she lowered her eyes back to the picture of her Nick. “He sounded like a pretty nasty piece of work.”

There was a rustle of cloth above her as Nick nodded. “He is. My guess is that either Skinny, or Kellogg, or both of them grabbed your husband. But I don’t know where they would have taken him. Which is why I wanted to talk to you in person. Any ideas where they could have gone?”

Mal opened her mouth to tell him no, but an idea occurred to her and she closed it again. It couldn’t possibly be that simple…could it? 

“This is just a rumor around the DA’s office,” she ventured. Nick gestured for her to go on. “But I’ve heard about an abandoned Vault construction site under Park Street Station. Word is, some small-time gang’s set up shop there.” She looked up to find human Nick leaning forward, watching her intently as he considered. 

“Well, it’s a place to start, I suppose. Wait here, and I’ll come back—“ Mal cut him off, standing up to meet his eyes. 

“No. You won’t. I’m going with you.” She glared at him, daring the detective to argue. “I can handle myself in a fight, and you’ll need the help if you’re going up against Malone’s gang.” 

Nick ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath. “We don’t even know if Malone and his cronies are there. Why are you so determined to go?” 

Mal could hear exasperation in his voice and raised her chin defiantly. Now that she’d made the suggestion, she felt a tingle. It was the feeling she got when she’d put a project together in her mind, fitting pieces together and knowing the end result would do what she wanted it to do.  
“Look, call it a hunch. I just feel like he’s there,” she tried to soothe the detective’s barely masked irritation. “Besides, I’m no good at playing the damsel in distress.” 

After a moment, Nick shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I suppose not. But no heroics down there, understood? We run into trouble we can’t handle, we punch out of there and call in the cavalry.” He stared at Mal until she nodded in acquiescence. “Let’s go, then.”

He stepped behind Mal to a coatrack. Turning, Mal nearly burst into laughter at the sight of the buff trenchcoat and fedora on the hooks. They were in better condition the ones she was used to, but it was still a familiar and cheering sight. She managed to cover her amusement with a cough as Nick shot her a sharp look. Once he was finished adjusting his hat, he ushered her to the door, stepping out into the city built from memories of Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally had the idea for human!Nick to make an appearance, it was the idea of him having the same trenchcoat and hat as our Nick that sold me on the notion. Although at the time, I had no idea how it was going to happen. Things like that happen sometimes, when you're writing.


End file.
